


Of Choices and Consequences

by rydia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azure Moon route but make it Bylaude, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Pre- and Post-time Skip, Slow Burn, background sylvix, is it Bylaude or Claudeleth what one are we supposed to use?, other background relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2020-11-07 18:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 111,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydia/pseuds/rydia
Summary: "You should have picked the Golden Deer."So Claude says, but Byleth thinks she made the right choice picking the Blue Lions. Dimitri needs her, but Claude will always be alright. Or so she thinks.And she thinks far too much about Claude, leader of a house she doesn't even teach.Bylaude/Claudeleth set in the Blue Lions route. Begins pre-time skip, but will end up post time-skip.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In my first playthrough of FE3H, I went with the Golden Deer. My second was with the Blue Lions, and it was mostly spent missing my good husband Claude Fire Emblem. And so, a fic that was supposed to be a one-shot, now somewhat longer. 
> 
> Some use of in-game text, but I tried to keep it to a minimum/mix it up a bit.

When she is asked to pick a house not long after arriving at Garreg Mach, Byleth Eisner is left flummoxed. She isn’t used to making decisions off the battlefield – her father is the person that keeps their lives orderly. He arranges their lodgings, does the bartering, makes the deals. She has minimal dealings with the other mercenaries. They respect her for her skills and her position as the boss’s daughter, but Byleth has known for years that she unsettles them. It’s never bothered her – they have her back in a battle – and vice versa – and that’s all that matters. All in all, it’s an arrangement that works for Byleth and Jeralt, and so Byleth has been content with it, passive to the passing of her own life, and only really asserting herself when she had her sword in hand and an enemy to face.

She did not get the nickname of the Ashen Demon by being docile in battle, after all.

Garreg Mach changes all that, immediately. There are so many people, a blur of faces, all peering at her and her father in curiosity. As they enter the monastery the knight – Alois, she recalls his name – greets everyone they pass, loudly and cheerfully, turning back every so often to beam at Jeralt. It’s is a direct contrast to her father, who is radiating tension, shoulders tight, jaw clenched. A look in his eye Byleth isn’t sure she’s ever seen before. She moves closer to him, and Jeralt glances at her as if sensing her silent support, but it seems it does little to make him feel better. In fact, he blinks rapidly and looks away quickly, as if the sight of Byleth is making him feel worse.

An unfamiliar feeling of uncertainty curls in her stomach.

And then there is the Archbishop of the Church of Serios. Her presence dominates even the large and impressive room they’re standing in. Her eyes move from Jeralt to settle on Byleth and remain there. Rhea’s intensity and continued stare makes Byleth’s skin prickle, and even though she’s more than able to meet the gaze of the Archbishop, Byleth feels uncomfortable. Another new sensation, and another one she does not like. She hopes they can return to their well ordered mercenary life soon.

The presence in her head perks up, and Byleth can feel Sothis’s curiosity with Rhea, can hear the quiet whispers as she contemplates the Archbishop and why she seems so familiar. Byleth is more than used to Sothis’s commentary by now – nothing on her face gives away to anyone in the room that she’s hearing a voice.

As always, she lets her father do most of the talking. All the while Byleth hopes that they’ll soon be out of this woman’s presence and away from this monastery.

But it’s not to be. Her father is to rejoin the Knights of Serios – it’s news to Byleth that he’d been one previously – while Byleth herself is to become the newest teacher at the monastery.

She stares blankly at the Archbishop at this, wondering for a second if she’s misheard because the idea is obviously ridiculous.

But no, Rhea wants Byleth to teach the students at Garreg Mach and for the first time in her life that she can remember, Byleth feels out of her depth.

When the green haired man beside the Archbishop expresses his displeasure over Byleth’s appointment, she truly can’t fault him his suspicion. She’s not going to pretend she knows anything about the way the Church works, but she’s sure this isn’t standard practice. Byleth could teach these students how to handle a sword and a number of other weapons, as well as a multitude of ways to kill a person, but that is the extent of her expertise. She has nothing else to offer, especially not to any noble child who might well have already had an expensive education before coming to the monastery. She does not use magic. She knows nothing of politics or the workings of Fódlan – she’s never cared about any of that.

Rhea has a pleased expression on her face as she continues to watch Byleth.

This isn’t… right.

Byleth can tell that Jeralt is equally as uneasy, although it’s well hidden to everyone else in the room. But she can see the small signs that show her father is stressed, and it leaves her unsettled. He’s usually so unflappable, a steady rock in a river that cannot be moved and as he leaves to prepare to take up his old duties, he looks at Byleth with a warning in his eyes.

She wants to reach out, for the first time ever to initiate contact and tell him to stay with her. But her hands stay by her side, perhaps weighed down by the weight of the Archbishop’s stare.

.

Sent out to meet the students she’ll potentially be teaching proves to be a bit stressful. They all blur into a sea of faces, except for the three house leaders that she and her father had helped the night before.

The three students that had gotten them into this situation in the first place. But she doesn’t really know what to make of them, and she can’t understand why they’re interested in having a mercenary as their teacher.

So by the time Byleth is asked to choose the house she’d like to teach, she’s overwhelmed by this huge, drastic shift in her life. It’s not helped by the running commentary being provided by the _voice in her head_.

Mentally, she tells Sothis to please be quiet, and receives a huff in response.

.

The truth is, she doesn’t know why she picks the Blue Lions. She remembers the blonde prince who, in her brief time with him, had seemed kind but troubled with a darkness in him. But perhaps more genuine than Edelgard or Claude appeared at first.

Was that her reason? Dimitri seems _kind_? He’s _troubled_? Did Byleth have some kind of notion that she – a mercenary with practically no experience with interpersonal relationships – could help him?

She doesn’t know the answer. She’ll never know the answer. And she doesn’t like that.

.

That night, Byleth’s first night in the monastery, the first night of her new life, she perches on the edge of her bed for a long time, staring at nothing. She’s trying to wrap her head around everything.

The room is comfortable but bare. Hers to call her home, she’d been told.

Home has never been a place for her. Home is her father.

Sothis is quiet. At least one of them is getting some sleep, Byleth thinks.

Eventually, she lies down on the bed that’s more comfortable than she had expected. But sleep does not come, and Blyeth is left with only her troubled thoughts for company.

But by the time the sun is rising, she has made a decision, and that in itself settles her.

Byleth will do what she can to teach the students of the Blue Lions. But she will also heed her father’s words – she will not trust Archbishop Rhea.

.

Later, much, much later, it troubles her when she thinks about the moment she’d been asked to chose a house. She could so easily have said the Golden Deer or the Black Eagles, with little consideration. Where would they all be then?

It’s times like this when she misses Sothis the most, and sometimes, when things are at their worst, she feels her palms itch with power and she wonders… she wonders if she can push the Divine Pulse and go back and start all over again. Pick another house, do something different. Prevent Dimitri from being broken. Stop Claude from ever having a reason to doubt her. Stop _Edelgard_.

But she doesn’t, because she can feel how it stretches her to go back a few seconds, a couple of minutes, to stop that arrow going through Dimitri’s eye, to take out the knight attacking Felix before Sylvain recklessly throws himself in front of a sword to protect his friend, to stop that mage before his magic blows Ingrid off her pegasus and her body crumples to the ground, broken.

Byleth lives with the nightmares of their deaths, so that the rest of them could _live_. Those that she can save, anyway. But that’s all she can do. She cannot change how this all started, but it doesn’t stop her from whispering Sothis’s name in the middle of the night at the height of the war, as she lies awake in her room at the monastery – her supposed _home_ – surrounded by empty rooms.

There is never an answer. Sothis may be a part of her but she is silent, and Byleth feels very alone.

.

But that is later. This is the beginning.

.

It starts with Byleth learning that she is adaptable.

She approaches teaching like it is a new kind of battle, and gains as much tactical information as she can. Talking to the other professors help, as does getting to know her students – even though she finds it strange she’ll be teaching people barely younger than her, and she has to brush away the flicker of uncertainty as she wonders what she could possibly teach them. There is no room for uncertainty on the battlefield – that gets you killed.

The stakes are a little less high here, at least. She hopes.

Byleth finds her father, who remains perturbed, and reassures him as best she can. He scrutinises her closely, and repeats his warning about Rhea.

Byleth makes a battle plan. And then she goes forth and… teaches.

.

To her surprise – and to her pride – she’s good at it. She’s never been a big talker, but she finds her voice by teaching. And what’s more, her students like her – mostly, anyway. Byleth thinks Felix will warm up to her. He’s not the first prickly man she’s had to deal with and when she sees how he talks to Dimitri and Sylvain – his supposed friends – she has to wonder if he likes _anyone_.

Leonie probably won’t ever like her, though, and Byleth allows herself to feel a bit of relief that the girl obsessed with her father isn’t in her house.

And then there’s Claude, who she can’t figure out. She’s sure he doesn’t like her, but it probably doesn’t matter. He is the Golden Deer house leader, after all. Nothing to do with her.

The even bigger surprise is that she enjoys not only the teaching, but being around her students. It’s overwhelming at first, with so many faces and voices. They can be _loud_. But Dimitri is good at keeping his house under control, and takes even Felix’s barbed comments with good grace.

But it is _strange_. She and her father worked with other mercenaries, of course, but she’d had little to do with them – she got the impression Jeralt preferred it that way and Byleth had never felt any urge to seek out the company of others. She’d always been content by herself, or being with her father – the one constant in her life.

But not anymore. Not only is she teaching these students, but she’s training with them and eating with them – and with the students of the other houses at times. Life at Garreg Mach is busy, but Byleth likes it.

She does not forget her father’s warning about Rhea, though. It never strays far from her thoughts. Thankfully she doesn’t have too much direct dealings with the Archbishop, but all too often Byleth has the prickly feeling of being watched, and will turn to find Rhea watching her like she’s waiting for something to happen.

Byleth never mentions this to her father, or the realisation that her life before coming here had actually been very strange. There are so many things she _should_ know that she has absolutely no knowledge of. She can see Dimitri’s surprise sometimes when he realises how little she knows, but he covers it quickly, and seems happy to explain to her the machinations of the Church, or the political situation in Fódlan. And then Byleth raids the library in search of more knowledge.

She knows she probably should ask her father, but she’s unwilling to put more burdens on Jeralt. And anyway, Byleth trusts him and knows he must have had his reasons for doing what he did.

Sothis disagrees, unable to understand why Byleth is languishing in her own ignorance. She, too, is thirsty for knowledge.

In general, Byleth finds a sense of fulfilment about her new role, a comfort and pride that she’s never felt before. She watches her students improve under her guidance, and sees herself improve as a person just for being around them.

She almost feels like she’s waking up from a long slumber.

.

While most of her time is spent with the Blue Lion students, Byleth begins to form friendships with the students outside her house. She has tea with Lorenz and Ferdinand, has lunch with Dorothea, trains with Caspar and Raphael.

But not Claude, who she sees often but rarely speaks to.

When she’d first met him, Byleth hadn’t known what to make of him – he’d been friendly, but she’d sensed it wasn’t genuine. His smile was warm, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His words were amiable but Byleth had doubted his sincerity.

Perhaps that was why she hadn’t chosen his house; sheltered she may be, but Byleth had encountered enough charming men with ulterior motives in her life to be wary. There’d always be at least one in a new town, and her father had told her some people wield their words and smiles like a weapon, and to be wary.

At first she’d thought that Claude was sizing her up – not that she’d minded that, really. She’d done that to all three of the house leaders too.

But it’s something different with Claude. It doesn’t bother her that Leonie has a problem with her, but it _does_ bother her to think that Claude doesn’t like her. It leaves her with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sensation that’s wholly unfamiliar to her. Byleth knows it’s silly, and thinks that it is perhaps best that she doesn’t have to work closely with him.

Sothis becomes irritated with how much Byleth lingers over thoughts of Claude’s guarded, bright green eyes. But it’s hard not to think about them when she seems to keep seeing him everywhere around the monastery – though he keeps his distance, like there is an invisible wall between them.

Byleth tries to dismiss the whole thing.

But then Claude appears to climb over the wall and seeks her out.

.

“You really like fishing, don’t you?”

Byleth turns her head slightly, hiding her surprise to look up at Claude from her perch at the edge of the dock on the lake. It means she ends up squinting at the sun, so she can’t see him properly or make out his expression. She lowers her gaze and recasts her line, wondering why he’s speaking to her.

Despite a flutter of nerves, her voice is calm when she replies. “You see me here often enough – the answer should be obvious.”

“Ah, so you noticed.” Claude’s voice is unruffled, full of easy charm. Not for the first time, Byleth wonders exactly how much of this is an act.

“I did,” she replies mildly, without censure. “You should work on your stealth.”

He huffs out a short laugh. “Noted, Teach. Can I join you?”

She nods as she throws her line out again, ignoring Claude as he sits beside her, long legs dangling off the dock beside hers. Close, but not touching. He’s not speaking to her out of politeness or a desire to make small talk, she’s sure, and she’s curious as to what he wants. What has made him finally decide to speak to her? But she isn’t going to ask directly – she suspects pushing him or letting him know she’s on to him will get her nowhere. Byleth does not know how to use her words as weapons, or even as a shield. She suspects that Claude does.

“My father likes to fish,” she says, somewhat absently, not even really sure why she’s sharing this detail with him. She and Jeralt haven’t actually fished together since coming to the monastery – and it’s only as she’s speaking does Byleth realise that, and that unsettled feeling she’d felt in her first days at the monastery return. He’s been the only person in her life for so long, and now she’s going days without seeing him at all. They’re both so busy, and he’s often sent out with the knights, on missions he can’t tell her about. It all seems wrong to her, to be apart from him like this.

There and then, Byleth decides to rectify that soon and make some time to spend fishing with her father – although his position here means he probably won’t be able to drink quite as much as he would usually. It wouldn’t do to get drunk and be a bad example to all these impressionable students.

The thought makes her lips quirk up slightly, and Claude raises his eyebrows, eyes widening almost comically.

“Is that a _smile_?”

Frowning, she replies, “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Leaning back, Claude rests his palms on the wood of the dock, the picture of relaxation. “Are you not aware of your stony face? Bernadetta will probably never leave her room again after seeing you come towards her.”

Byleth only frowns harder at that, bothered by his words. Surely she doesn’t look that threatening, does she? The fishing rod in her hand goes slack in her distraction, and she turns to face Claude more fully, trying to decide from his face if he’s being serious or not.

He looks a little contrite. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude.”

Shaking her head, Byleth turns away again, raising her rod, and trying to push away the forlorn feeling building up in her. “It’s fine.”

Claude winces at her short tone. “No, it’s not, and I really am sorry. You have nothing to do with Bernadetta hiding away and I shouldn’t have said that. I just find you fascinating, Teach. I’m trying to figure you out.”

She stares at the smooth surface of the water in front of her, wondering why he’s wasting his time on something like that. There’s nothing to figure out. Why can’t he just talk to her like most of the students do? “I’m not that interesting.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s not every day a mercenary becomes a teacher to the future king of Faerghus, is it?”

“Suppose not,” she murmurs, still frowning down at the water. Maybe her face is scaring the fish away.

“Did your father teach you how to fight?”

Pushing her hurt feelings – and the wandering thoughts of _why_ she felt hurt – away, Byleth considers a moment before deciding to answer. It’s not that she minds the question – it’s hardly invasive and the answer should be obvious to Claude – but she can’t figure out _why_ he wants to know. Reeling in her empty line, Byleth sets the rod down and again turns to face Claude more fully, deciding to focus on him rather than fishing.

He’s watching her avidly, though he still has a contrite expression on his face.

“Yes,” she answers eventually. “He did.” Byleth could hardly remember a time when she didn’t have a sword in her hand.

If Claude is disappointed by her short answer, he doesn’t show it. Instead he nods, leaning closer to her. “That makes sense. Jeralt used to lead the knights here, didn’t he?”

Byleth nods like that isn’t information she’s only recently discovered herself.

Claude continues. “And that was before he became a legendary mercenary. Was it hard on your mother when you decided to become one too?”

She blinks – firstly at the mention of her mother, a completely unknown quantity to her, and secondly because it wasn’t like Byleth had ever decided to become a mercenary. She’d always just been one, it seemed. Again her answer is short. “I never knew her.”

Claude stills, sympathy flashing across his face. “Oh, I see. I suppose if you grew up moving from battlefield to battlefield, it explains your unusual amount of composure, especially for someone around the same age as me.”

_Yes_, Byleth thinks, they’re probably around the same age. But she doesn’t answer his unspoken question about how old she is. That would lead to further questions, or likely suspicion. She knows it’s strange to not know your own age, and by now she knows that it’s even stranger that she hadn’t even _realised_ it was strange until she’d come to Garreg Mach. Being here is proving to be an ongoing learning experience for herself and not just her students.

She doesn’t blame her father. He’s always taken care of her, and whatever his reasons for doing the things he’s done, Byleth is certain Rhea is involved. She’s still not sure what to make of the Archbishop. Rhea appears so interested and caring towards her, but she must want something. She _knows_ something.

It would all come out eventually, Byleth supposes. While it seems like Rhea doesn’t want any harm to come to her or Jeralt, she’ll wait and enjoy her time here until they can leave.

“Teach?”

Byleth blinks, realising she’s been staring right through Claude. ”Sorry,” she says, “I got lost in thought.”

“That’s alright. So long as I’m not boring you.” Claude tilts his head at her, clearly scrutinising her. The sun catches his hair and his eyes are bright, and Byleth’s suddenly struck with the thought that he’s very handsome.

And _that_ notion is shoved away, immediately. Silly. Dangerous. Byleth is relieved Sothis appears to be sleeping.

She’s also relieved that Claude has no idea what she’s thinking, and she quickly pulls herself together, raising a single eyebrow at him. “It’s hard to be bored when you’re being interrogated.”

A slow smirk crosses Claude’s face. “Oh, Teach, I’ve only just _begun_ to interrogate you. But… still, I don’t want to annoy you.”

“You aren’t.” It’s the truth. Byleth doesn’t have anything to hide – Claude would discover soon enough that she’s telling the truth when she says she’s not that interesting. But she likes talking to him, and listening to him speak. Perhaps this way she’d get to know him too.

“Good.” Claude’s smirk turns into a winning smile that seems just a little more genuine than any she’d seen from him before, and as he continues to pepper her with questions about her childhood, Byleth thinks that this is a good beginning.

Maybe someday she’ll see a smile from him that reaches his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

When Claude hears the new professor has picked the Blue Lions as her house, he’s disappointed. She’d been a force of nature on the battlefield. Claude had never seen anyone move like her. He’d been irritated when he’d head Dimitri and Edelgard immediately try to win her over to their side and lend them her power. Oh, he’d absolutely intended to do it too – he’d just planned to be a little more diplomatic about it. 

He had decided as soon as he’d heard she was staying at the monastery that he was going to figure out her secrets and if she could be an asset to him. In truth, he finds her and her sudden career change from mercenary to teacher incredibly suspicious. But that’s all the more reason to keep her close. She’ll be easier to watch, to figure out her weakness. As her student, he can charm her until he gets what he wants – her power, her secrets. 

But apparently Dimitri’s words had worked, and Manuela took over the Golden Deer while the new Professor began teaching the Blue Lions. It’s an annoying setback, but he can work with it. Claude didn’t survive this long by giving in at the first opportunity. He can rise to a challenge, and the mystery of Byleth Eisner is certainly a fascinating one. 

.

He starts by watching her and gathering intel, hoping to gain an upper hand or at least some more understanding of her before trying to get closer. There are a few students who seem greatly intimidated by the new professor’s stony face, and then there are those like Leonie more impressed with her father – Jeralt, the Blade Breaker. But nobody seems to know anything more than the fact that they were renowned mercenaries. At least, no one he can approach. It’s not like Claude can stroll into Rhea’s meeting room and start questioning her, and he has to be careful no one gets suspicious of him. 

The lack of progress soon makes him frustrated. This would be so much easier if he were her student. As it is, he’s mostly resigned to seeing her in the dining hall or on her way to and from the officers academy. 

In the dining hall, he notices Sylvain often by her side, sitting a little too close with a wide smile that frankly looks comical next to the Professor’s dead eyed stare. She’s clearly more interested in her food and Claude is amused to see Sylvain’s flirting attempts failing miserably.

Most of the other Blue Lions also seem to warm up to her quickly – not surprising from the girls, Claude thinks, or Ashe. He _is_ a little surprised that Dimitri seems so taken with Byleth so quickly, but that explains Dedue’s clear reservations towards her. He seems on edge, more watchful than usual. To Dedue, Byleth is an unknown and that could make her a threat to the prince. Claude suspects he’ll warm up if Dimitri continues to trust her. 

And then there’s Felix. Claude has already heard people talking about Felix’s futile attempts to take the Professor down during training. He’ll have to find time to be in the training grounds while she’s there – he’d like to see her in battle again, even if she’s just sparring. 

And seeing Felix on his ass would be entertaining. 

.

The one thing he learns from his observations is that the new teacher likes to fish. And one sunny day when he spies her along on the dock, he decides he’s going to talk to her. Watching her is getting him nowhere. It’s time for a new tactic.

It’s a conversation that takes him by surprise. Teach is hard to read in a lot of ways, but she actually seems surprisingly open to answering his questions. Claude can’t detect any hint of untruths in what she tells him, although he does wish she’d expand a bit more on her answers to him. She’s short at times, but not rude.

He’s no closer to any of his goals, but… he likes speaking with her, he decides. It’s no reason to let his guard down, but it makes things easier, especially if she’s happy enough to speak with him.

.

Two days later, he watches the Professor and Felix spar in the training grounds. Felix is good, but Teach is mesmerising, her moves smooth and purposeful. Dangerous even with her training weapon. Claude is sure she’s holding back, and beside him, it seems Hilda has the same idea.

“She must be something else on an actual battlefield,” she murmurs with raised eyebrows. Then, after watching the Professor take Felix out, sword at his throat with a terse command to yield, Hilda says, “If this is how she trains with her students, I’m glad she didn’t pick us. Can you _imagine_?”

Claude glances sideways at Hilda with a smirk. “I don’t think she’s like this with everyone. You know what Felix is like.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m tired just watching them.”

From across the training ground, they hear Felix say, “Someday, I will best you.” 

Ignoring that, Byleth extends her hand to help him up, before launching into a thorough review of their session, both praising and critiquing his performance and… honestly, it’s a little astonishing. She’s thorough, but helpful. What she’s saying is something they should all be listening to – it’s the kind of knowledge that will keep them alive in battle. It’s the most Claude has ever heard her speak, and Felix is listening. He still has a scowl on his face, but he’s _listening_. And the way Teach’s brow furrows with a crease between them as she makes a point she feels is particularly important is… cute.

_Huh_.

It’s obvious to anyone with eyeballs that Teach is attractive. Claude has noticed. But he’s not easily distracted by a pretty face or body. The potential complications are too many, and he’s too focused for that. He has absolutely no time for thinking anybody is _cute_, especially not someone like Teach – who he knows absolutely nothing about except that she likes to fish and that she probably knows twenty ways to kill him in less than five seconds, if she ever wanted to. 

Not that he intends to ever be in that situation. He’ll get her on his side. 

And not because she’s cute. That’s a distraction. 

Beside him, Hilda sighs. “She’s so pretty, it’s tragic she’s wearing that hideous outfit.”

Claude’s head turns towards her so sharply he almost pulls a muscle in his neck. But Hilda is still watching the professor, not paying any attention to him, and he relaxes. 

That their thoughts ran in similar directions is a coincidence. Hilda, thankfully, can’t read his mind. 

.

And so it goes. 

Claude learns her habits, and knows when he can find her. He can admit that he likes Teach. She’s a refreshing person to be around and she continues to answer his pestering questions with good grace, even though she’s sometime strangely vague or clueless about things that shouldn’t be difficult to answer – like her age. But Claude still gets the sense that she’s being truthful in what she does tell him, and he’s dealt with his share of liars in the past. 

He doesn’t include himself in that. Claude prefers to think of himself as someone who just bends the truth a little. Obfuscates. Changes the subject. Omits information. Schemes a little, sure. But not a liar. 

A liar is someone who says to your face, “Master Claude, your food has been tested and is safe for you to eat” when you know full well that same person had laced that delicious looking feast with fast acting poison that would kill within minutes. _That’s_ a liar. 

Teach, he thinks, is not like that. But more like him, perhaps. 

It’s a tentative thing, he supposes, this friendship – if it can be called that – that they seem to be forging. He still very much wants her power and her skills, which he only grows more impressed with. The improvement of the Blue Lions under her guidance is obvious. Claude senses he needs her to make his dreams a reality. And now there’s some guilt in that, because she’s someone he’s getting to know and using a friend or something close to it feels different to just using a useful somebody. 

But despite this growing attachment, he still doesn’t trust her. Claude isn’t entirely certain he’ll ever trust _anyone_. So he enjoys their talks, and happily accepts her invitations to tea. They even spar occasionally, and she gives him the same thorough reviews that she gave Felix. And like Felix, Claude listens, and learns. What’s more, he pays attention to how _she_ fights. 

But he’s no closer to understanding the mystery of her, or why Rhea favours her. _Why is she here? _And so he can’t trust her even if he feels like maybe he could.

Then Teach picks up the Sword of the Creator, and trust feels a little further away than ever.

.

The monastery is full of cats and dogs, spoiled by staff and students alike.

Byleth is no exception. And one one giant, grizzly, ginger cat takes a particular fancy to her, probably because of the strips of meat she smuggles out of the dining room for him. She quickly learns that he likes the back of his neck being scratched but not under his chin. That gets a warning swipe with a paw. Once, when he was rolling around on his back, she tried to touch the soft fur of his belly. She did not get the benefit of a warning that time. She got claws.

She’ll never try that again, not matter how tempting and fluffy it is.

It’s a sunny morning, and she’s just fed her feline friend his breakfast. Now the cat is rolling around on the ground, loudly purring, while Byleth carefully pets him, keeping out of the danger zones. 

She senses the person approaching before she sees them – she’s outside the dormitories, not far from her own room. It’s still very early, and she’d thought the area deserted. Byleth is an early riser by habit, and she likes to get her breakfast in before the rush of students a little later in the morning. She’s used to being one of the few people about at this time, aside from guards and some other faculty members.

It takes only a second later for her to realise who it is, recognising his gait, the quiet steps, and the swish of expensive fabric. She frowns to herself, surprised that she can tell – the only other person she’s had such familiarity with is her father. 

“Good morning, Claude,” she says evenly, watching the cat rub his face over her hand.

He makes a small sound of disbelief. “That’s a lucky guess, right? You couldn’t possibly know it was me without looking up.” 

Byleth raises her eyes to see him a few feet in front of her. He’s watching the cat – who is ignoring the new arrival completely – with an unreadable expression on his face. She decides to be evasive. “If that’s what you want to think.”

_You are ridiculous_, Sothis says, exasperated. Byleth, by now used to the voice in her head, makes no response or indication she’s heard. 

Claude raises his eyebrows for a second before his face smooths out into his usual easy smile, but it’s the one she doesn’t really like, the one she can see isn’t genuine at all. “Oh? Then should I be flattered, Teach? Have I become so dear to you, you can sense my presence?”

She stares balefully at him, unwilling to admit even to herself how close he is to the truth. But it seems to be enough to get him to back down, as he raises both his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay! You could turn people to stone with that look, you know.” 

The cat gives Byleth’s hand a particularly hard headbutt, and she looks down at him, realising that she’s stopped petting him. She begins to scratch the back of his neck again, and is rewarded with the renewal of the loud purrs. 

“You’re up early,” she says, offhand.

“Ah, yeah,” he replies. “Busy, busy.” 

Something in his tone makes her pause and look up again, but she doesn’t say anything. Claude simply raises a shoulder lazily and says, “So, you like cats?”

Byleth stands up straight, her feline friend following suit to begin rubbing against her boots, twirling around her legs. “I suppose.” In truth, she’d never thought one way or another about cats until she’d gotten to the monastery.

“I thought you’d be more of a dog person.”

She’d never thought about dogs either until recently but… “I like dogs, too.” 

He laughs. “Horses? Wyverns?” 

“Yes.” Why wouldn’t she like them? Byleth glances down at her furry friend again, watching him thoroughly mark her with his scent. “I think this cat has picked me.”

“Yeah, they do that,” Claude says with a smile. “What’s his name?”

She shrugs. “I’ve just been calling him Cat.”

Claude laughs again. It feels too loud on this quiet morning, but she likes it. “That is such an unimaginative name, I’m almost impressed.” He watches the cat curl around her leg, following Byleth’s hand as she reaches down to pet him again. 

Byleth glances at him from under her eyelashes. “I considered calling him Sylvain.” 

Claude chokes slightly on his laughter, surprised. “Teach… was that joke? Did you just make a _joke_?”

She wants to say no, because she _had_ considered it – the colour of Cat’s fur is similar to Sylvain’s hair, and Cat is just as forward and easy with his affections as Sylvain, but Byleth has a suspicion that those affections will stop if she ceases to give him food. Fickle. But she doesn’t say no, because the soft crinkling of Claude’s eyes when he laughs is a sight that warms her. So she says nothing, instead watching him, so she notices when his eyes slide over her body and something in him sharpens. It’s subtle; if she hadn’t been watching him, she might not even have noticed.

His laughter has stopped, and instead he has that practiced smile on his face when he says, “I see you aren’t carrying the Sword of the Creator with you, Professor.” His eyes rise to her face again. It’s his turn to watch her carefully. 

Byleth pauses briefly, before straightening up again. _Professor_, he’d called her. Not _Teach_. “No,” is her simple reply. She carries a regular sword with her while in the monastery – for now, anyway. The Sword of the Creator is too powerful and dangerous to take lightly, and while she won’t refuse the power it grants her, something about it unsettles her. 

Claude’s comment causes a swell of disappointment to rise up in her, though. He’s here because he wants to know about the sword, not because he wants to see her. The fact that she can wield it has probably just made him more suspicious of her, perhaps undoing whatever it is they’ve been building up.

For once, she doesn’t want to face his questions, especially knowing she can’t answer him. She didn’t know she had a Crest until recently, and she doesn’t know why Rhea has allowed her to keep this sword. She doesn’t know why Rhea acts so caring and familiar towards her. All Byleth knows is that it puts her on edge.

She doesn’t know _anything_, and she has to force back her sudden irritation at it all. 

So before Claude can ask anything, she says evenly, “I have to get ready for class. Goodbye, Claude.”

With that, she extricates herself from Cat and swiftly makes her way to her room, leaving him behind. She doesn’t look back, but she’s sure she can feel his eyes on her.

_You’re letting this boy get to you_, Sothis says to her, a hint of scorn in her voice. _You have more important things to think about!_

Byleth doesn’t reply, because Sothis is right.

.

As it happens, she doesn’t see Claude for some weeks, as he’s called away to an Alliance summit. Byleth does not let herself think about how much she misses their chats and how much she misses him. Missing boys is a silly notion for a mercenary to have. 

These feelings are inconvenient. 

She presses her hand to her unbeating heart, and tries to shove them away.

_That won’t work_, Sothis says, exasperated. _Even I know that_. 

But still, Byleth tries, throwing herself into preparation for their mission that month – a mission that involves taking down Sylvain’s own brother. After having to bring Ashe along when they killed his adoptive father not so long ago, Byleth is wondering at Rhea’s reasoning for assigning these missions to the Blue Lions. There’s preparing the students for the realities of life, and then there’s just being _cruel_. 

But Sylvain, like Ashe, won’t hear of sitting out the mission, and as Sylvain tells her about his brother, she begins to understand him a bit better, even if she still dislikes the way he treats women.

The mission is a good distraction, and there’s a relief in knowing that whatever these confusing feelings for Claude are, she isn’t allowing them to get in the way of her job, or compromise the safety of her students. 

Byleth thinks of the power at her fingertips, but she hasn’t had to use the Divine Pulse since the first time, much preferring to never have to put her students in any more danger than necessary. So far, she’s been successful. But she’s always aware of this gift that Sothis has granted her, the knowledge of how to use it seemingly ingrained in her, like she’d been born with it.

The death of Sylvain’s brother and the way he died, lingers with her students. Sylvain seems to be taking some of his anger and grief out on her, but she can deal with that. He’s in pain. They all seem to come to her more often now, needing reassurance or advice. Even Dedue seems to be warming up to her, speaking solemnly about the plants of Duscur as they work in the greenhouse. 

After that conversation, Byleth goes to the library and reads all she can about the Tragedy of Duscur, growing increasingly horrified. How had she not heard of this before?

But Dimitri remains the person she’s most concerned with.

When he breaks a training lance one day, she sees his hands shaking, sees him closing and opening his fits to get himself under control. She turns her body to block him from anyone who may be watching, knowing he’ll not want anyone to see him like this.

Dimitri apologises. “It appears I do not know my own strength.” But his expression is strained and there are shadows in his eyes. Byleth sits him down gently, passing him her flask of water, thinking he’s had enough training for the day. A part of her thinks he shouldn’t be going out on missions at all, but she knows better than to voice that thought out loud. There’s no chance of that happening, and he’d likely be insulted. 

When she asks him if he’s alright, he turns to her with a smile and says, “I am well. Thank you, Professor.”

And Byleth wonders if Dimitri is putting on a better act than even Claude.

.

She’s relieved when Claude finally returns. She’s heard he’s back but doesn’t see him until that evening during dinner time. Their eyes meet across the dining hall. He sits with his fellow Golden Deer, who are welcoming him back with a group meal. Claude tilts his head in acknowledgement to her, and she she does the same, feeling a long held tension leave her; a secret look in a crowded room.

.

Dark rumours begin to swirl around the monastery: a death knight on the prowl, people being kidnapped. The atmosphere becomes quieter, and more students travel in pairs or larger groups, retiring to their rooms early. 

Then Flayn disappears, and Byleth starts carrying the Sword of the Creator with her at all times. She and the Blue Lions search for the missing girl, and she knows the other two houses are doing the same.

They find her eventually, physically unharmed, but there are still more questions than answers.

There are too _many_ questions – about the Death Knight, and about this Flame Emperor. It’s clear that there’s something much larger going on, but Byleth is told to keep the students calm and allow the Knights of Seiros to try track down the Death Knight. Only the Blue Lions really know what happened in those underground tunnels. But they, like the rest of the students – including Flayn herself, who has joined Byleth’s class – are looking forward, specifically to the Battle of the Eagle and Lion being held the following month. 

Byleth tries to look forward with them, and tells herself that the building apprehension in her gut is an overreaction.

.

It’s not, of course, but she doesn’t know that until much later.

.

“You should have picked the Golden Deer house,” Claude says to her one day over tea, two weeks before the mock battle. She’d bought some Almyran Pine Needle tea, and she suspects by Claude’s reaction that this is his favourite so far. She’s secretly pleased.

“Should I?” Byleth asks.

“_Obviously_.”

Byleth stirs her tea. “Hm. No, I think I saved myself a lot of headaches.”

“Wow, Teach, the fact that you can say that with such a straight face – I’m not even sure if you’re joking or not.” 

She keeps her eyes on him, resisting the urge to smile. It’s still a foreign feeling for her, this urge to smile and the warmth that comes with it. The fluttering in her stomach when _he_ smiles at _her_. She often wants to smile around Claude. 

Instead, she changes the subject.

“Manuela told me about that poison you brewed up.”

“Oh, that’s nothing, just a hobby of mine.”

“Your hobby is making poisons?” Byleth sounds skeptical and Claude leans forward, eyes twinkling. 

“In a way. I just like to have options.”

“_Options_?”

He spreads his arms wide, palms towards her, a grin on his face that is quite possibly the most insincere she’s ever seen from him. “Options.” 

She thinks about what she knows about Claude – still very little beyond the basics, she realises. Future leader of the Alliance, heir to the Riegan dukedom, only recently named as legitimate with some questions and suspicions about where he’d been before he’d turned up… 

_Hm_. 

Not that Claude himself has told her that last part.

“Seems unusual for a noble child to have a hobby like that.” From what Manuela has said, Claude’s poison making skills are not exactly amateur. She’d been as impressed as she’d been exasperated. It’s clear this isn’t a new interest for him. 

Though she might be wrong on it being unusual for a noble to be into poison making. For all she knows, the Alliance nobility could be well known for poisoning their rivals.

Something flashes in Claude’s eyes. “Let’s just say I grew up in an environment where it was a necessary skill.” He seems inclined to stop at that but Byleth stares steadily at him over her cup of tea, clearly expecting more. “Stop looking at me like that, Teach, it’s just that I wasn’t born into a life of luxury like the other nobles here. I was an outsider. I was resented and hated and there were attempts on my life.”

Byleth frowns, unable to imagine why somebody would try and kill a child and wondering exactly _why_ Claude’s childhood had been like that. What made him different from Lorenz or Hilda? She resists the urge to press him for too many details, suspecting he won’t answer. But she begins to understand a little more why Claude is the way he is. “Your parents?”

Claude shrugs carelessly, like they aren’t discussing the assassination attempts he survived when he was a child. “They kept me alive long enough for me to fight back, so they protected me. But they always told me I wouldn’t grow stronger if I didn’t learn to fight my own battles. And so, I did, and I grew up to be as independent and self-reliant as they always wished me to be.” He pauses to take a sip of his tea. “I imagine Jeralt did much the same to you.”

For a moment, Byleth feels a flare of anger at his parents, that they should leave a child to deal with something like that. And of course he’s flipped this conversation to be about her, and he _is_ right about what he says about Jeralt. “I’m pretty sure that as soon as I could stand, I had a training sword in my hand.” Her words are said absently, as she thinks about what Claude has just told her. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, but you grew up well.”

She’s sincere in her words, and Claude rubs the back of his neck, the tiniest hint of a blush dusting his cheeks. “Ah, well, I imagine you know what I’m talking about, Teach. I get the feeling you know what it’s like to be an outsider.”

Her eyes dart down. He’s right about that, too, even if she’d only fully realised how much of an outsider she was to well, _everything_, since she’d come to Garreg Mach.

Claude continues. “The moment I first met eyes on you, I knew you weren’t like everyone else and people don’t care for folks like that. You’d do well to watch your back.” 

Byleth’s eyes snap back to his. Words like that could sound like a threat, but Claude is being earnest.

The seriousness soon leaves him, and he shoots her that ingratiating smile. “On the bright side, that’s also part of the reason I find you so fascinating. And why I wanted you lead our house. We’d have done beautiful things together, Teach.”

“I think you’ll do fine without me, Claude.” She’s being truthful. He’s capable and resourceful and she thinks he’ll be able to do anything he sets his mind to. And then, because not only does she want to smile more around Claude, but she wants to tease him too – more firsts that he unknowingly gets to claim – she continues, “just don’t expect the win the mock battle.”

“I’m glad you have such confidence in me,” he dryly responds, smirking at her.

Byleth purses her lips, again fighting back a smile, and Claude leans back in his chair, a sly look on his face. “What do I have to do to make you laugh, Teach?”

“Be funny?” Her reply is deadpan, and she thinks her father would be proud of her for that response. He always says she’s too serious.

_That_ makes Claude laugh, a sound that makes Byleth want to smile all the more. “Harsh. I suppose I’ll have to try harder.” 

When she does finally smile at him, he beams at her in return. 

-

The Battle of the Eagle and Lion may be a mock battle, but it’s taken very seriously by all involved. Byleth is caught up in the spirit of the event, a much needed boost after the attack on Manuela and Flayn’s abduction. She enjoys watching her students work together so well as they plan their strategy in the Blue Lions classroom, bolstered now by Flayn and, surprisingly, Dorothea – who’d requested to join a week earlier. Byleth had been happy to accept her, and Dorothea’s wide smile and the way she’d pressed her hands to Byleth’s in thanks had been… startling. In a good way. She hadn’t been wearing her gloves and the skin to skin contact had been… nice. Normal, probably, for other people. But for Byleth, it is new.

She only ever experiences the touch of other people through battle, where it is violence and death and very decidedly not nice.

The sole exception is Jeralt – as he always is, and he’s hardly the most physically demonstrative person. But even now, despite that she’s no longer a child, he still sometimes acts like she is – a helping hand getting onto a horse, a pat on her head. And then sometimes, a comforting hand on her shoulder, a hug after a battle, the careful way he assessed any wounds she might have. A gentleness only seen by his daughter. 

Dorothea’s simple press of her hands against Byleth’s makes her think of her father – of trust and friendship, and she smiles back at the girl, suddenly grateful for something she can’t place.

.

She goes to see Jeralt the day before the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. He’s away from the monastery so often these days on business from the Archbishop. It’s business he can’t discuss with her, but the mere thought it makes his lips press together in displeasure. Byleth realises with dismay that he isn’t enjoying his time here nearly as much as she is. She’d hoped time here would make things better, but she thinks about her mother’s grave. Perhaps the memories are too much.

The thought makes her withdraw, and Jeralt also remains quiet, clearly seeing that something is on her mind.

When Byleth finally speaks, she does so very quietly, aware of Seteth’s office just across the hallway. “Do you want to leave?” She does not ask, _are you staying for me?_

Jeralt regards her with an unusual amount of intensity, suddenly appearing much older than he looks. “No,” he finally says and while Byleth knows her father has omitted many details that she should probably know, she does not think him a liar. 

But still. “If you think we should–“

He shakes his head, cutting her off. “No,” he says again. “We stay. This was… this was probably always inevitable. Anyway, I thought you were happy here?”

Byleth frowns at him, displeased, because she isn’t happy if he’s unhappy. “Are _you_?” 

The sigh Jeralt heaves is heavy, like he’s channeled twenty years of stress into that one sound. “I’m worried.” His voice lowers to a barely heard whisper, the one he’d use sometimes when stealth was required on a battlefield, and Byleth has to watch his lips to get every word. “What I said about Rhea before still applies. I don’t like the way she looks at you, especially since you got that sword.”

“But w–“ 

He cuts her off again, voice raising to a more moderate level. “But I can see how being here has changed you and makes me rethink some of the choices I made. Being here is good for you. Even if I don’t like the way some of those brats look at you, either,” he finishes darkly.

Byleth ignores that last, ridiculous comment. It’s a bit late for Jeralt to be playing the protective father in that sense. Instead she rests her chin in her hand, staring at him with a look she knows he can’t resist for long. 

“Look,” Jeralt runs his hand down his face tiredly and his voice turns gruff, “I know I owe you some answers. Can you give me some more time?” Unexpectedly, he reaches out to place his hand over hers, so similar to the way Dorothea had just the previous day. Byleth glances down, bringing her other hand over his, squeezing slightly. 

And because he is her father and she trusts him, she answers the only way she knows. 

“Of course.” Byleth smiles at him and Jeralt softens at her expression. 

“Thank you, kiddo” he says before clearing his throat. He blinks, and they both retract their hands. Silence falls between them, but Byleth senses he needs it, so she says nothing, just sips her tea and waits. 

Finally, he seems to compose himself. “So. I hope you’re ready for tomorrow’s battle.”

She’s not surprised by the topic change. “Yes.”

“Think you’ll win?” Jeralt asks with raised eyebrows.

“Yes,” Byleth says again, because she does.

“Hm. Hope you’re not being cocky.” 

“Never. That would get me killed,” she responds dryly. They’re words he’s said to her before, many times.

“It’s a mock battle, kiddo, no one’s dying.” She hears the smile in his voice under his gruffness.

“Lucky for the other houses.” 

Jeralt snorts. “You’ve been hanging around the von Riegan brat too much if you’re speaking like that.” Byleth starts and he answers her next question before she can ask it. “Don’t act surprised, I keep an eye on things.” He levels her with the same stare she uses on unruly students, because she’d learned it from him, but it’s long since ceased to be effective on Byleth. “Even when I’m not here. And you can’t miss him. Really takes the ‘golden’ part of his house name to heart, eh? Does he think you’ll go easy on him tomorrow because you’re friends?”

She stares at him, bemused. “He’d be disappointed if I went easy on him, I think.” She and Claude hadn’t spoken in too much particulars about the upcoming battle – they are on opposing sides after all. But she knows he has his schemes, and he’s confident. But Byleth’s confident, too, and she’s got faith in her Blue Lions. “He’s going to be even more disappointed when he loses.”

Her father smirks, clearly no longer bothered to reprimand her for cockiness. “That’s my girl. Give ‘em hell tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original plan for this fic: a one-shot.  
Then: Two chapters pre-timeskip, probably three post.  
Now: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ the Scrivener doc is a mess and I've lost control of my life.


	3. Chapter 3

Byleth’s confidence is not misplaced, and their strategy for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion goes off without a hitch. They quickly claim the central hill, taking down several of the Black Eagles, before pushing south to where more of Edelgard’s forces are locked in battle with some of the Golden Deer. The Blue Lions take advantage of the confusion, and then they split up, with Byleth leading several of them east to find Claude, while Dimitri and the others face down Edelgard and her remaining Black Eagles. 

It’s not long before they’re charged by Lorenz on horseback. Byleth ducks out of the range of his lance, pulling Ashe with her, while Sylvain gallops up and the two clash. Not far behind him is Annette, her magic already at her fingertips. 

Byleth spots Hilda not far off, just outside a small forest. She nudges Ashe, who immediately fires a arrow at her.

Hilda dodges just in time, and looks beyond dismayed as she sees her opponent. 

“Professor!” There’s a distinct whine to her voice, and her shoulders droop. Byleth wastes no time and takes advantage of Hilda’s hesitation. She charges her, knocking the girl back. Byleth has sparred with a lot of the students, even those not in her own house. Hilda is one of the ones who has never approached her for that. She knows Manuela has called the girl lazy, and lamented that if she put in the same effort into doing work as she does trying to get _out_ of doing work, she’d be dangerous. 

Byleth eyes Hilda’s form. She’s quicker than she looks with the axe, and powerful. She’s good. But she’s sloppy, and her feet drag a little. Perhaps some of Hilda’s attitude is because this is just a mock battle, but it’s something to be concerned about. 

Later, she’ll talk to Manuela about it. Now, she focuses on dodging Hilda’s wide swing. 

Ashe fires again, this time finding his mark, making Hilda wince and grumble. With a sigh, she says, “Fine, you win.” Shouldering her axe, she takes off in the direction of the camp, leaving Byleth frowning after her, dismayed at how easily she’d given up. 

“Professor?” Ashe asks, wondering at her expression. 

Byleth smooths out her face, before glancing back. Lorenz has been defeated, which means there’s just Claude left of the Golden Deer.

She squints into the distance. Edelgard and Dimitri are still trading blows. She can’t see Dedue, but the purple spark of Hubert’s magic is visible, with Ingrid and Felix are approaching it. Mercedes is at a distance, giving support. Everything looks to be under control.

Satisfied, she turns back to Ashe. “Let’s find Claude.” She starts moving towards the trees, expecting Claude will be under cover. “Keep quiet. I’m sure he’s got something up his sleeve.”

The trees are packed closer together than Byleth expects. The sun is blotted out by their heavy branches, making the forest dark. She halts, knowing this terrain is unsuited to Ashe. She murmurs for him to wait outside the forest, to take cover and watch for Claude. Hopefully she can flush him out. Byleth is certain he’s in here.

Carefully she makes her way through the trees. It’s difficult to be quiet. The ground is damp and covered with leaves and foliage. After a few moments, she steps into a clearing, large enough for the sun to break through.

Every sense is alert. It’s too quiet. 

Byleth stills holding her breath. She senses something –

– and moves just before the arrow hits the tree behind her, and she manages to deflect another shot off her shield as she spins to face her opponent.

Claude stands directly across from her – out of her striking distance. He already has another arrow lined up, Byleth in his sights.

“Hey Teach.” He’s smirking, of course. “Do you come here often?”

Byleth makes no reply, very slowly moving herself into a better position, her eyes on his hands, watching for the moment he’ll let loose another arrow and ready to counter it. She considers her options.

Claude keeps talking. “Kinda glad this is just a mock battle, so you aren’t using that scary sword today. Otherwise you’d be able to hit me from there with it, wouldn’t you?”

_You’re talking too much_, she thinks. He should have kept firing on her, forcing her to keep moving instead of giving her a chance to take stock, regain her footing, and retaliate. He could easily have scored a hit. And the ground is uneven, with exposed roots and rocks. He could have pushed her enough so that she lost her footing. If Claude thinks having her down the sights of his bow is enough to keep her at bay, he’s very wrong. 

Though his grip on his bow never falters, ready to fire, he keeps talking. “How’s it going out here, Teach? Have the prince and princess killed each other yet?”

Byleth ignores his words, her eyes estimating the distance between them.

She doesn’t need the Sword of the Creator to hit him from here. Instead, Byleth launches her training sword at him, hitting her target – the hand holding the body of the bow. She didn’t put her full strength behind it – she doesn’t want to break his fingers – but it’s a strong enough blow for Claude to hiss in pain, releasing the arrow in surprise. But she’s knocked his aim right off, and it bounces harmlessly off a tree trunk wide of Byleth. She gives him no time to recover before she’s on him, knocking the bow out of his hands and sending out a low kick to sweep his legs out from under him. 

The sudden onslaught and abrupt movement from vertical to horizontal leaves Claude a little winded, blinking up into the Professor’s face. He quickly takes stock of the situation: he’s on his back on damp, muddy ground. He’s been disarmed.

And Teach is straddling him, a dagger near his throat.

First part is quite nice; the second not so much. 

He lets out a shaky laugh, very aware he’s entirely at her mercy and not quite sure how he feels about that. “I think you win this one, Teach. I yield.”

The dagger immediately retracts and she sheaths it, leaning back. Claude can feel her thighs flex on either side of him and he has the sudden urge to grab her waist and bring her closer and hold her there.

He does not, instead covering up the sudden flair of desire with a wide smile and teasing tone. “You’ve sure swept me off my feet.”

She frowns at him and glances down his body, like she’s just realised their position, and stands in one fluid motion, extending a hand to help Claude up. Despite missing the weight of her on him, Claude gratefully takes the help with his good hand. The one she’d managed to hit with her sword is aching, and he flexes his fingers gingerly.

“You should have taken me down,” she says, still frowning. “You wasted your chance by talking and giving me time to get into position and react. Why didn’t you shoot?”

“Just thought I’d build the tension a bit more.”

She gives him the stink-eye, unimpressed, but Claude keeps smiling at her. She’s right, he knows. He’d been drawing the moment out because he thought he was at a safe distance and even if she charged him, he could get in a shot to slow her down and either retreat or reposition. He’d been enjoying himself – he’d seen Ashe leave the forest and had quickly forced him to yield after catching him by surprise. He’d known Teach had no back up in the forest, with the rest still occupied elsewhere. 

The truth is that he’d wanted to get some kind of reaction of out her. What, exactly, he wasn’t sure of, but just _something_. Anger or frustration at being taken by surprise. Even just a bit of playful banter, perhaps.

He should have known better. She has too much field experience to be distracted like that, even if this is a mock battle. She’d remained completely focused. Claude had never expected her to _throw_ her sword at him like that. He’s sparred with her and watched her train with others and he’s never seen her do anything like that before. 

Teach is just full of surprises. 

And she seems willing to let his non-answer go for now, as she lifts his other hand carefully, inspecting it. He holds back a wince, but she seems to sense it, sparing him an apologetic glance.

“It’s bruised, but not broken. Manuela should be able to fix you up easily.” 

“Thanks, Teach.” Claude swoops to pick up his bow with his good hand, even with Byleth still holding his other one. When he stands, he’s even closer to her, and she peers up at him, a small blush crossing her face.

“I should probably go.” She sounds hesitant and Claude smirks, delighted at finally seeing some kind of reaction. She’d had no problem straddling him, but _this_ makes her blush. Perhaps he does distract her as much as she distracts him.

Something to think about later, he decides. 

For now, he steps back, and her hands fall to her sides. “You should,” he agrees. “I’m sure you don’t want Edelgard to win just because you’re fraternising with someone in the woods during the battle.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, flush deepening. “We’re not–“ Then cuts herself off with a shake of her head, before turning away to retrieve her sword, sheathing it slowly. When she stands, the blush is all but gone and her face is blank, and she looks every bit the mercenary she once was. “Go see Manuela,” she says shortly, nodding at his hand. 

And then she’s gone, disappearing through the tree and Claude lets out a deep breath, trudging slowly in the opposite direction, lost in thought. He’s greeted by Hilda after he emerges from the forest, and he smirks and says the right words to her about how the Golden Deer fought well, yada yada yada, but really, he’s still thinking about Teach.

And about just what the hell he’s supposed to do now. He isn’t supposed to be getting attached, not like this. And, as his gaze goes sideways to Hilda, who has taken his arm to lead him to a tent for healing, he realises it isn’t just Teach. It’s Hilda and the rest of the Golden Deer. 

Even _Lorenz_.

It’s been some time since he stopped thinking about them as ‘useful’ and started thinking of them as friends. He watches them as Manuela discusses their performance as she heals his bruised hand. Everyone is there, all with their own opinions, of course. What they did wrong, their little victories, what they’d do different. 

“I always thought Professor Byleth was nice, but she’s scary on the battlefield.” Ignatz’s eyes are wide as he recalls the experience. Byleth had taken him down easily. Too easily, probably, Claude thinks with a frown. He knows being a knight isn’t Ignatz’s dream; perhaps that shows. 

“Yes, well,” says Manuela breezily, moving on from Claude to check Hilda for injuries, “the lovely Professor _was_ known as the Ashen Demon before she came here. It’s hardly surprising.”

Hilda makes a face. “So much effort to make for a _mock_ battle, though.” She sighs. “I’m glad it’s over.” 

Claude remains uncharacteristically quiet. He’s surprised no one else picks up on it, but they’re all still running on the high of the battle, despite their loss, and are too busy chattering loudly with each other to notice his unusual reticence.

It’s no surprise when the other two houses return with the news that the Blue Lions have won both the battle and the prize. Not to take away from the efforts of Dimitri and the rest but Teach is special, after all. 

Claude watches from a distance as Rhea personally congratulates Byleth. The Archbishop is so… personal with Teach. It bothers him. Meanwhile, Teach’s face is blank, simply nodding in reply to Rhea’s warm words before turning towards Dimitri and talking briefly about how it was a group effort. 

He wonders what she thinks of Rhea. 

Dimitri beams under Byleth’s praise.

“Hm.” Hilda is by his side. “You’re awfully quiet.” 

Ah, someone _had_ noticed. 

“I’m just evaluating everyone’s performances,” he replies, smiling at her. “There’s gonna be extra training after this.” 

“Ugh.” Hilda wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think I can make it. I’m absolutely _swamped_ these days.” 

“Sure you are.” 

“Oh, I really am.” She sounds so incredibly sincere, even Claude nearly believes her. “I hope your training involves learning how to not stare at Professor Byleth as much.” 

Claude gives no indication that Hilda’s words have startled him, although they have. “She’s very easy on the eyes, Hilda. I’m sure you noticed.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t start talking like Sylvain, Claude.”

He raises his hands. “If I was going to start talking like Sylvain, I’d be saying, ‘wow, look at those – ‘ ow, _Hilda_!” 

She’d punched him in the arm. _Hard_. _That’s going to bruise_, he thinks ruefully, but he probably deserves it. It’s no surprise that someone who can hold an axe that big like it’s nothing can pack a heavy punch. 

But it works. Hilda scoffs at him in disgust and walks away and Claude doesn’t have to face any more awkward observations from her. He watches Hilda approach Marianne, linking their arms together and leaning in to talk quietly to her. 

Guilt gnaws at Claude, and it’s made even worse when Marianne glances over at him with a look of disappointment. 

_Ah, shit. _

He’ll apologise later. Claude doesn’t want to make Hilda angry, and he doesn’t want to be disrespectful about Teach. He’d just wanted Hilda to stop getting any ideas about Byleth – even if she’s right about them – and he’s probably completely failed in that. 

She’ll probably accept his apology so long as Claude promises to do some of her chores. 

He can only hope Hilda won’t bring up Teach again, but Claude already knows that’s a futile thought. Hilda is far more observant than he gave her credit for.

.

Time moves quickly after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. There’s more unrest, the Death Knight reappears, and her father once again promises to speak to her before he’s called away on yet another mission far from the monastery. He’s so often away these days, Byleth takes to spending some of her evenings in his office as she works, at least able to feel close to him this way. She misses him.

Meanwhile, despite the unrest, the students are excited about the upcoming ball to celebrate the anniversary of the completion of the monastery. 

These stone walls have seen much history, and stood through it all. 

Byleth is indifferent to the ball and slightly bemused by the excitement of so many of her students about it. She suspects she knows what it’ll involve even if she’s never been to one before. The closest experience she’s come to a ball is a rowdy village pub, where she drank ale and watched some of her father’s mercenaries dance with the locals.

A ball, she decides, is probably just a better dressed, more stately version of that. Hopefully with better drinks. 

.

The morning of the ball, she finds Ingrid hiding near the greenhouse. 

“Mercie wants to put make-up on me for the ball.” Her voice is grave, like Mercedes has suggested something terrible.

For a moment, Byleth is at a loss. She’s entirely unfamiliar with make-up – it’s hardly necessary for a mercenary, but she’s a little surprised to hear that coming from a noble. “You don’t want to wear make-up?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “I’ve never worn it. I don’t really see the point.” She sighs. “And Dorothea doesn’t like that we have to wear our formal uniforms, but I’m glad. We have more important things to think about than what we’re wearing.”

Byleth smiles at her seriousness. “I agree.”

Ingrid returns her smile with a tentative one of her own. “I thought you might, Professor. Even the ball itself seems a little silly to me.” 

She regards Ingrid carefully, before replying gently, “It’s okay to enjoy things, even if you think they’re frivolous. You work hard Ingrid. Have fun with your friends.” She does not say, _have fun with your friends, because in a few weeks I’m going to be asked to take you into a dangerous battle again and you all might die_. 

That, Byleth knows, won’t be comforting.

Ingrid’s smile widens and she relaxes slightly. “I suppose you’re right. At least I can put those dancing lessons my father made me take to good use. Do you dance, Professor?” 

She shakes her head. “Not at all.”

Ingrid laughs. “Then you might want to watch out. I know Sylvain is planning on asking you dance.”

“I’m sure Sylvain is planning on asking every woman in the room to dance,” Byleth replies dryly.

“Probably.” Ingrid sighs, becoming sombre again. “I’m sorry he’s so…”

“You don’t need to apologise for him.” Byleth is firm. She doesn’t understand why Ingrid takes responsibility for Sylvain.

“I feel like I do.” Ingrid is silent for a moment. “Anyway, I’m sure he’s not the only one who’ll ask you. I bet Claude will, too.”

Byleth stills at the mention of the person so often in her thoughts. “Oh?”

“You too seem so close! We almost thought you might ask Manuela to switch so you could teach the Golden Deer.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Feeling a little uneasy, she continues, “I like Claude, but I like a lot of the students that aren’t in my house.” Realising she sounds defensive, Byleth takes a deep breath and considers. Ingrid’s words make her realise that her students have definitely been discussing her and Claude. She’s not sure what to make of that. She’s never neglected her Blue Lions, even if she spends a lot of time with Claude, but she doesn’t want them to think she’s so fickle and would request to transfer just because of that. She isn’t even sure if that’s allowed, but she certainly never would even if she could. “I’m happy with the Blue Lions, and I’m glad I picked this house.”

Ingrid’s smile widens. “I’m glad, Professor. We all really like having you as our teacher. Even Felix. I bet if Claude wasn’t the leader of the Golden Deer he’d transfer just to be closer to you.” 

“I don’t think so,” she demurs, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation and needing it to end. “I should be going, Ingrid. I’ll see you at the ball.”

Sothis, who has been quiet throughout all this, suddenly speaks. _Did you really think they wouldn’t notice this juvenile infatuation?_

“It’s not–“

_Ugh. Lie to yourself all you like, but don’t lie to me._

Byleth doesn’t reply, and Sothis falls silent again. 

It’s remains a strange feeling, to be arguing with the voice in your head. 

.

At first, the ball itself is boring. Byleth stands with Manuela, keeping a blank expression on her face while actually being entirely engrossed in Manuela’s tale about a knight she’d bedded recently. She hadn’t seen the knight since, but Manuela is happy to share details that are likely far too personal to be discussing in public. Byleth doesn’t really want to encourage her, but she’s actually a little fascinated in how Manuela describes her passionate night. She has no experience of it herself and well… curiosity is healthy.

When Seteth appears by them and Manuela falls silent, Byleth can’t help but be disappointed. He politely enquires if they’re enjoying their evening, and they both respond just as formally, and then a painful silence falls among them. 

Byleth has made no effort to get to know Seteth better, although he’s been warmer to her since they rescued Flayn. But she still doesn’t know how to talk to him, and this awkward silence is hard to bear. She searches the room for her father. He’d only recently arrived back at Garreg Mach, and said he’d make an appearance tonight.

“Ah!” Manuela exclaims with forced excitement. “The dancing is about to begin.” 

Byleth turns her attention to the dance floor to see Dimitri and Edelgard with their respective partners, dancing gracefully across the room. In this moment it’s easy to look at both of them and see them as the future Emperor and King of their countries. Dimitri catches her eyes briefly over his partner’s shoulder and she smiles softly at him. He does the same, before he’s twirling his partner away, and Byleth watches him fondly.

She wonders where Claude is just as she spots him crossing the room on the edge of the crowd.

He’s heading her way, she’s sure, and even from a distance Byleth can see the determined glint in his eyes and purpose in his steps as their gazes meet.

_He isn’t._

Sothis cackles. _Oh, I think he is. The little deer is going to catch you._

Byleth doesn’t have a chance to respond to Sothis, before Claude pulls her onto the dance floor with no words and just a wide smile, and Byleth has a split second of panic – an unknown feeling for her – because everyone is looking at them and she has _no idea_ how to dance. 

“Relax,” Claude says softly into her ear, his breath tickling her and sending a pleasurable shiver down her spine. “Let me lead.” 

“You’re supposed to _ask_ if I want to dance, not just drag me out here,” she hisses lowly at him as she tries to take his advice. Letting someone else lead is hardly something she’s accustomed to doing. Thankfully, more couples are filling up the dance floor, so less eyes are on her, although she’s sure some people are wondering why the future leader of the Alliance chose her as his first dance partner. 

He laughs quietly. “Drag you? Teach, I’m fairly certain you know multiple ways to break the arm of a man who’s holding you.” His eyes twinkle at her. “I think you went willingly.” 

Byleth lets out a deep breath through her teeth. He’s annoyingly correct, so she chooses to focus on dancing. Or trying to. Claude clearly knows what he’s doing and has the grace to not even grimace when she steps on his toes. So focused is Byleth on trying to follow his steps that she doesn’t realise she’s got Claude’s hand in a vice grip until he gives another little laugh, saying, “Teach, you might actually break my fingers this time.”

She loosens her grip slightly, both on his hand and shoulder, and her gaze continues to dart between their feet and his face. But after a few moments, it gets easier, and she follows Claude’s movements better now that she’s slightly more relaxed and can appreciate what they’re doing.

“This is… this is actually fun,” she says breathlessly. 

Claude’s smile is soft. “I’m glad you think so.”

As they dance, Byleth is forced to reevaluate her feelings on balls. Dancing with Claude is better than fun. She stops looking at her feet so much, instead focusing on Claude’s face, holding his heavy gaze as he leads her around the room.

This kind of movement is so different to anything she’s done before. She feels like she’s floating. 

With the floor filling up with so many people, Byleth presses closer to him, so close she swears she can feel his thundering heart through both their layers of clothes. The look Claude is giving her makes something stir deep inside her, and Byleth has to turn her head away, just slightly, and the top of her head brushes his chin. She swears she hears him sigh. 

It feels like they were meant to do this together. Only months ago she’d dismiss anyone saying anything like that as ridiculous. Silly. _Childish_.

But now… now she thinks she understands.

Claude’s hand tightens on her waist. His leg is pressed against hers, telling her where to go with subtle movements she’s quickly picked up on. She wishes she wasn’t wearing gloves so that she might feel his skin against hers. She looks up at him again, and he’s still smiling at her, gaze warm and her breath stutters and her steps falter at the look in his eyes. But Claude simply holds her tighter and whispers in her ear. There’s suddenly nothing else in the room – no other people, no music. Just them and his clear gaze on her. 

“I have you, Teach.” And then, even quieter. “You look really beautiful.”

Byleth wants to reply, to tell him that she looks exactly the same as she always does – she didn’t put on make-up or style her hair like so many of her students, but she finds herself robbed of breath and unable to form her thoughts into words. 

Someone bumps into the back of her, sending her stumbling even further into Claude, who holds her steady. But it’s enough to make the noise and the crowd come rushing back in and Byleth is quite suddenly aware that this is inappropriate. Probably. She’d been told by Seteth when she started the job to behave with ‘propriety’ but Byleth thinks her definition of propriety and Seteth’s are very different. 

By the time the dance ends, she still hasn’t spoken, and she cannot dance with Claude all night. That’s probably for the best, because there’s something boiling over in her that leaves her hot and restless. Once she and Claude have completed their two sets, Sylvain is quick to cut in, and Byleth vaguely remembers something Dorothea said about two sets being the maximum you could dance with someone unless you were betrothed or married – at least, without attracting gossip. And she can’t… she can’t let that happen.

So Claude hands her off to Sylvain, but the smile falls from his eyes as he does so. Byleth gets one dance with Sylvain before he is elbowed away by Dorothea, and after that dance, she’s engulfed in the Blue Lion girls all dancing with each other and claiming Byleth for a dance each. 

She’s glad to see Ingrid enjoying herself despite her earlier reservations. 

Ingrid grins at Byleth with a face flushed from dancing. “I _knew_ Claude would ask you to dance.” 

Byleth doesn’t reply to that, and is thankful none of the others seem to hear. It’s not long before Lorenz claims her hand, his dancing impeccable but his posture stiff. He’s difficult to dance with and Byleth finds his lead very hard to follow, and he’s unable to stop a wince when she steps on his toes.

She’s is grateful that her next partner, Ashe, is far more easygoing, but she’s ready for a break and when she finally spots her father across the room, she uses him as an excuse to escape the dance floor and another dance with Sylvain. 

Jeralt has a glass of wine in each hand. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“I am.” She takes one of the glasses he offers her and tries to sip it instead of downing it in one go. She’s thirsty. 

“I’m glad.” 

Byleth wants to ask where he’s been, but decides against it. He likely won’t answer and perhaps tonight isn’t the night for it. Hopefully they can talk tomorrow. 

Jeralt shakes his head. “Never thought I’d see you so comfortable in a place like this. Those brats really like you, huh?” 

She shrugs, not sure how to respond and knowing that things aren’t as peaceful as this ball makes them seem. They lapse into silence as they finish their drinks.

Placing both of their glasses aside, Jeralt turns to her and bows gallantly, extending his hand. “Think you can spare a dance for your old man?” 

Byleth can’t help the small laugh that escapes her, and she sees her father’s eyes twinkling. “Can you even dance?”

“Hmph. Well, I’m no _Claude von Riegan_, but I can’t be any worse than you. C’mon.” 

Ignoring his comment about Claude, she purses her lips at him, but takes his hand and lets him lead her back out on to the dance floor. 

Jeralt is right. He isn’t any worse than her at dancing, but he’s not much better either. Somehow they sway their way through the set, and Byleth is relieved to see her father looking more at ease than he has in months. 

Once they complete their dance, they make their way to a quieter part of the ballroom, talking for a while before Jeralt announces he’s turning in for the night. 

“Already?” She asks, her voice turning sly. “Are you sure you don’t want to dance with Manuela?” 

“I think I’ll pass,” he replies dryly. “I only came to see you, kid. Enjoy the rest of your night.” 

.

Sensing she might be approached for more dances now that her intimidating father has left, Byleth also makes an escape outside through one of the side doors, needing some fresh air and a break from the crowds.

The night is cool and she sighs, enjoying the slight breeze and the muted sounds of merriment and music coming from inside. She thinks over the evening so far, pressing her hand to chest. Her own heart might not beat but right now it feels like it is.

Maybe it’s an echo left by Claude. He was the only one who made her feel like this – none of the other dances she’d shared came close. 

_Please stop_. Sothis is weary of Byleth’s constant thoughts about him. 

A noise behind her makes her turn in surprise, so lost in thought she’d been unaware of her surroundings. There’s a brief hope for a second that it might be Claude, but it isn’t.

It’s Dimitri. 

Byleth isn’t disappointed to see him – in fact it’s quite the opposite. She cares for Dimitri and in truth, she worries for him in a way she doesn’t with her other students. He tries so hard, but she can see how troubled he is and how the tragedy of Duscar still heavily affects him. 

The way Felix speaks about Dimitri is harsh, but Byleth can see he’s right about something – there is a darkness in Dimitri. Something broken that he tries to keep hidden. And he is a prince, just waiting to take his throne. Dimitri is already under so much pressure. Nearly everyone holds themselves apart from him, too aware of his rank, afraid to speak to him equally – much to Dimitri’s frustration. 

Felix, of course, takes that in the opposite direction a bit too much.

So Byleth, while she is his professor, also tries to be his friend – prince or not. But she doesn’t really know if she’s helping him with anything beyond tactics and battle skills, and she doesn’t have anyone she can ask for advice. She can only hope that something she’s doing is helping him.

So she’s happy to talk, and when Dimitri begins telling her about his childhood with Edelgard, it’s enough to push thoughts of Claude out of her head, because Dimitri is her friend as well as her student, and she’ll be there for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more pre-time skip chapter before I finally get to the reason I started writing this fic in the first place: the smut. (Haha, just kidding... unless?)


	4. Chapter 4

A dagger in her father’s back.

The smirk on Monica’s face.

The twisted look of pain on Jeralt’s.

The thud as he hits the ground. 

His blood.

It happens so fast, but Byleth is pulling back time before she can even take a breath, her shock and horror at what she’s witnessing not enough to slow down her instinct to save her father. Her chest feels tight as it happens, but the world settles, and once again she can see her father standing upright, smiling gently at Monica and this time, Byleth will stop her.

She swings the Sword of the Creator at Monica – she is going to _kill her _– but the attack is blocked by the sudden appearance of an unknown man.

This time, she can’t see the moment her father is stabbed, blocked by the body of the stranger. This time, all she hears is his noise of surprise from her father’s mouth. 

But she sees him fall again, and Monica and the stranger disappear.

Once again Byleth tries to pull on time.

But nothing happens. 

Distantly she’s aware of Sothis saying something but she can’t listen, not when her father is on the ground, and there’s so much blood – his blood – everywhere.

Byleth drops her sword and rushes to Jeralt, cradling him in her arms. His chest is heaving, and it’s obvious even breathing is painful and Byleth has never, _ever_ felt so helpless.

“It looks like… I’m going to have to leave you now.” Jeralt’s voice, always so strong, cracks.

_No_.

She wants to scream it, deny it with everything in her.

_Sothis, Sothis, stop this! _

She glances up briefly, hoping to see Mercedes nearby, a desperate thought that her faith magic can help, but her students are nowhere to be seen. 

There is a press of sorrow and sympathy from Sothis, but nothing more and Byleth knows with despair that her father is going to die soon. Even if Mecedes were here, it’s too late. 

It’s _fate_.

Byleth isn’t even aware she’s crying until Jeralt speaks again. “To think that the first time I saw you cry, your tears would be for me.” He gasps, a wet, unhealthy sound. “It’s sad, and yet… I’m happy for it.”

Byleth leans closer over him, breath catching, unable to speak. Unable to do _anything_ but hold him and cry.

“Thank you, kid.” His eyes close and head falls back in her arms. 

Her father dies with a smile on his lips, but Byleth takes no comfort in that. 

This is the first time she’s ever cried. She feels like she will never stop.

.

The next few days are a blur. There’s a funeral Byleth doesn’t really remember beyond Dimitri standing by her side throughout the whole thing. She feels the presence of her students at her back in silent support and yet she’s hardly aware of it. 

She watches them bury her father with her mother and she hopes that if there is any kind of an afterlife, that they are together in it. 

Rhea tells her to take time to grieve and look after herself. Seteth assures her the knights are after her father’s killers. Alois promises to look after her in Jeralt’s stead.

And Byleth just feels numb. Her tears did stop, but she feels like she’s walking through water. There’s a vague sense of unreality to everything. 

Because it’s unfathomable to her that her father is dead. That he could even be killed. That he’s left her alone.

.

Except she’s never truly alone. Sothis, in her way, is a comfort. 

And then there are her students. They show their concern in different ways when they visit her – Ashe and Ingrid bring her books, Annette cooks her food and brings it to her room, although she struggles to remain cheerful. Felix wears a solemn expression and swears to help her have her revenge. So too does Dimitri, but his simmering rage seems to be boiling over into something uncontrollable and all Byleth can do is share a look of concern with Dedue. 

It reminds Byleth of how Dimitri had been after Remire, and she knows she should do something to reign him in – but how can she do that when she knows eventually she’ll be seeking out that revenge herself? If she tries to talk to Dimitri, he’ll assure her he’s fine. 

She sighs to herself in the quiet of her room. 

Despite her worry for Dimitri, she’s grateful to him and the rest of them. They’ll be graduating soon enough, and Byleth will miss them all terribly. 

She’ll have to decide if she wants to stay as a teacher here once they’re gone. Byleth isn’t sure she wants to stay here, not without them and her father.

.

_You’ve been very careful not to use the Divine Pulse before_, Sothis says carefully, during those days blurred with grief. _Why is that?_

Byleth thinks the answer should be obvious. “It’s dangerous to rely on it.”

_How so?_ Sothis sounds curious.

She sighs. “On the battlefield I can send someone into any situation no matter how dangerous and see how it plays out. If it ends badly I can turn back time and use a different strategy. It could make me careless. Make me forget about the value of their lives – and it’s… it’s no way to be thinking. It’s _playing_ with their lives that they’ve entrusted to me.

Byleth feels a wave of approval from Sothis. _I am glad you think that way, and that I was right to trust you with it. It is not a power to be taken lightly._

“I just…” Byleth doesn’t finish the thought.

_I know. I am sorry we could not save Jeralt. Fate can be cruel. _

Sothis is quiet for a time and Byleth continues flicking through her father’s diary as she sits in the comfortable chair in his office. The world outside seems muted, as it has since the day Jeralt left her. She knows she should be more bothered by what she finds in the diary – it’s confirmation that Rhea did _something_ to her as a baby – but Byleth finds she doesn’t care, not right now. In the face of her grief, it doesn’t matter. 

Eventually, Sothis speaks again. _That said, I fear you will need the divine pulse in the days and months to come. We could not save Jeralt but your students will need you. It’s clear the forces at play here will not stop with just your father._

Byleth stares at her hands, finding she doesn’t want to think about it, not right now. What if fate decides she cannot save Dimitri, if something happens? Or any of them? 

Anger flares up in her.

What _use_ is this power if she cannot save them? 

.

Byleth wanders back to her room as the sun sets, carefully avoiding anyone who might try to talk to her. After some indecision, she’d decided to leave Jeralt’s diary in his office for now, though she’d taken the ring he’d told he he wanted to have, on that day that seems so long ago now. 

When she gets back to her room, she sits heavily on the chair by her desk, and takes the ring out of her pocket. The candlelight catches on the precious stones and Byleth lets out a shuddering breath as she realises that whoever she gives this to, her father will never know who it is. 

Carefully, she puts the ring back in it’s little velvet bag and into her pocket. 

She sits for a long time, staring at nothing. The candle burns low. 

A knock on the door startles her, jerking her upright in the chair. Gathering herself, Byleth blinks as she wonders what time it is, and how long she’d been sitting there. It must be late. 

As she stands, rubbing her eyes, a flash of irritation stabs through her. She wants to be left alone.

It disappears as soon as she opens the door.

“Hey, Teach.”

For once, there is no smile on Claude’s lips. But his eyes are warm, his concern obvious. 

She hasn’t seen him much since Jeralt’s death, or even since Remire. There and been so much going on before, and then after there had been the flurry of activity around the funeral. Since then Byleth has avoided being out and about much, because everyone wanted to talk to her and she found the outpouring of condolences difficult to listen to. And while her Blue Lions came knocking at her door, even before her father died, Claude never had. Until now. 

He raises a hand, in which he holds a carefully wrapped package. “The Golden Deer nominated me to bring you some sweets. Everyone is worried but they didn’t want to bother you. I considered leaving them by the door and running away, but there’s already too many rumours about ghosts in the monastery, so I thought I should do this properly.” He bows low, holding out the package. “Please accept our homemade and heartfelt sweets.” 

Byleth, surprised, reaches out to take them from him. Her fingers brush slightly against his and despite everything it sends a flare of warmth through her that sets off a riot of butterflies in her stomach. Her breath catches.

Unable to look at Claude while she’s feeling like that, Byleth stares down at the gift. It’s tied with a colourful ribbon, obvious care put into it, and she’s filled with a swell of emotion. Emotion always seems too close to the surface these days. It’s a new vulnerability. Her fingers worry the ribbon gently. It’s nice to realise that even beyond her own students, that there are others who care about her.

“Thank you, Claude,” she whispers. 

When she finally looks up, she’s finds him standing very close to her. He looks so sad, an expression she’s never seen on his face before, and it’s perhaps the most open look she’s ever seen on his face. 

“I’m sorry you lost him,” he says, as quietly as her. “But we’ll get who did this.”

She nods, knowing that they would, eventually, even if right now her own sadness is weighing her down. Even the thought of lifting her sword seems too heavy. 

But someday she _would_ lift it again, and avenge her father. 

“Do you want to come in?” She blurts out without thinking and then wonders at the wisdom of it. She’s had her other students in here, but never just her and one of them alone. And never _Claude_, who she can’t put into the same category as anyone else.

But all Claude does is nod and say, “Sure thing,” and then walks straight into the room like it’s no big deal. The room seems smaller with his presence.

Closing the door, Byleth turns and brushes past him to sit on the edge of the bed. Claude still stands, his eyes casting around the room before they fall on her, and she’s just about to tell him to sit in the chair when he moves to sit beside her on the bed, shoulder lightly touching hers.

Byleth resists the strong urge to lean against him. 

Silence stretches out between them, but it’s not uncomfortable. She stares at the ground, at Claude’s long legs stretched out in front of him, at her own hand still fiddling with the ribbon. There’s no tension in Claude, who seems content to wait until she’s ready to speak. 

Eventually, Byleth says, “I don’t know why I invited you in. I don’t have anything to talk about.” 

“That’s okay, Teach,” is his easy reply, and he scoots himself backwards so that his back is against the wall, sitting sideways across her bed, calves and feet still dangling off the edge. “I can leave if you like.”

Byleth casts her eye over his reclining form sceptically. “You say as make yourself comfortable.” 

He smirks. “C’mon, sit back. _You_ get comfortable. Eat some sweets.”

“It’s very late for sweets.”

Claude laughs at that. It’s such a loud, _human_ noise that it makes Byleth relax a little. His laugh wraps around her like a warm cloak. She’s been avoiding everyone since Jeralt’s death. While her students have visited and checked up on her, it’s been obvious they were afraid of overstepping. Hearing Claude laugh makes Byleth realise that she’s been lonely, and that locking herself away isn’t helping. 

She’d never been lonely before. 

But then, she’d always had her father.

So she takes the sweets and settles in beside Claude, this time letting herself lean on him, just a little bit. The warmth from his arm bleeds into her.

Feeling his gaze on her, she picks at the ribbon on her care package carefully. When she finally opens it up, she smiles involuntarily. The sweets are carefully made and iced in different colours. 

Still smiling, she glances at Claude. There’s a soft expression on his face. “They really went to a lot of effort, didn’t they?” 

“That’s the Golden Deer for you. And Lysithea takes sweets very seriously. ” She bites into one with a sigh, and then offers some to Claude, who happily takes one. In between bites, he says, “You really should have picked our house.” 

“I don’t know,” she replies teasingly, suddenly feeling lighter than she had since before she’d lost her father. “I get all these benefits without actually having to teach you.”

“Harsh as always, Teach. We’re not that bad.” 

“Hilda tried to convince me to muck out the stables for her. She blamed Manuela’s workload. Called herself a delicate flower.”

Claude huffs. “Of course she did.”

“I’ve had five different girls complain to me about Lorenz and I’m not even his teacher.” 

“Like Sylvain is any better.”

Byleth pauses, suddenly realising she’s gossiping about her students… to another student. Even if Claude _is_ right about Sylvain. 

As if sensing that she’s uncomfortable, Claude leans away from her slightly. “I can leave, if you want.” 

_Maybe you should_, Byleth thinks. That would probably be best. It’s likely he shouldn’t be here, alone in her room, late at night. This is probably breaking Seteth’s ideas of propriety. It could give the wrong impression, even if they’re doing nothing more than talking and eating sweets because Byleth knows that it’s more than that. Isn’t it? Does Claude think that? She doesn’t have a relationship like this with any of her other students, just like Claude doesn’t have a relationship like this with Manuela. 

He _should_ probably leave.

But…

She takes a deep breath. “I don’t want you to leave.” 

Claude leans back into her, his shoulder bumping hers, with a sigh that Byleth thinks might be one of relief. She turns her face slightly, to find him watching her. He’s so close, so _very_ close. 

“Thank you, Claude,” she breathes and he gives her that breathtaking smile that lights up his face – that _real_ smile that she sees so rarely. “I don’t want to be alone and you –” how can she tell him that he is the one person she really wants to see? That’s too much, even to admit to herself in her own head “– I’m glad you’re here,” she finishes, somewhat weakly.

He nudges her slightly, and takes another sweet. “You don’t ever have to be alone, Byleth.”

She starts slightly at the use of her name, sure this is the first time Claude has ever said it. But she doesn’t mention it, although the look on Claude’s face tells her that he’s very aware of what he’dsjust done. Instead, she take another sweet, enjoying the sugary taste that bursts over her tongue, and the comfortable, solid feel of Claude by her side. 

The silence is easy, but after a time she can sense that Claude is building himself up to say something. There’s a sudden tenseness in him, and his expression smooths out. She turns her head to him again, a question in her gaze.

He fidgets. “Why are you looking at me like that? Is my face really that interesting?”

_Yes_, she thinks. Out loud, she asks, “What is it you want to say?”

Claude’s eyes widen slightly. “How did– no, never mind.” He shakes his head. “It’s just that I wanted to apologise.”

“What for?” 

“I was suspicious of you for far longer than I should have been. I thought you and Jeralt might have been involved in all the weird stuff happening at the monastery, especially with the way Rhea acts towards you. I was wrong, and while usually I hate to be wrong, in this case, I’m glad.”

Byleth thinks it over as she chews. It’s not like she didn’t know that Claude didn’t trust her at first. He didn’t trust anyone and her appointment to the academy _was_ unusual. There’s still a stab of hurt as she remembers that even then, at the start, she wanted Claude to like her and it’s only recently that she really understands why, even if she’s still reluctant to put it into words. 

What matters is that he doesn’t feel that way anymore.

She swallows, and finally says, “It’s fine.”

Claude looks at her incredulously. “It’s fine?”

“Yes.” And because she’s feeling a little selfish, Byleth leans against him again, resting her head on his shoulder. A wave of tiredness washes over her. She hasn’t been sleeping well.

“Al-alright.” Claude tenses and then relaxes under her, and Byleth gets the impression there’s more he wants to say, but she falls asleep before he has the chance. 

.

When she wakes up the next morning, Claude is gone. But her boots have been removed and she’s been tucked into her bed.

Byleth smiles to herself, curling into the blankets for another moment before Sothis – who had been mercifully quiet last night – tells her in no uncertain terms to stop being so lazy and get up. 

.

She gets back to her life, putting on the stoic face she’s always worn. Being busy again helps, yet sleep still does not come easy to her. 

But her chance at revenge comes quickly enough.

It’s Dimitri who tells her, slightly out of breath like he’s dashed to find her the moment he found out. The sealed forest, near the monastery. Their enemy is there.

No amount of pleading from Seteth or Rhea will stop her, and she’s gratified that Dimitri is backing her up, and he’s not just using emotion to convince them. He’s giving his reasons, sensible reasons and strategically sound, and she knows Rhea cannot refuse. Byleth wonders briefly if she’s been too worried about Dimitri. There’s no trace of that unsettling rage as he deftly convinces Rhea to have the Blue Lions take care of this threat.

.

They stand at the edge of the sealed forest.

“I hope you know that you can rely on us.” Dimitri’s words are said with certainty, with a round of nods following from the others. But his tone shifts as he continues speaking, into something darker. “No matter who they may be.”

That nagging worry comes back to Byleth again, although no one else seems to notice. But she puts it aside for now, drawing her sword and nodding at Dimitri. 

It’s time to face the enemy.

.

Byleth has to force herself not to be reckless as she fights her way towards Monica – no, Kronya – especially with the presence of the demonic beasts. She knows her students will follow her lead. But while she wants revenge, she cannot face the prospect of her revenge being the reason they get hurt. 

Still, when she has a clear line of sight of Kronya, she takes her chance, whipping the Sword of the Creator at the girl, who falls back with a cry before taking off running. 

Byleth follows, rage building up inside her. This time she won’t let Kronya get away. This time, she will die. 

She’s not aware of the distance she’s put between herself and the others, who are still battling Kronya’s remaining soldiers. Distantly, she hears Dimitri shouting for her. 

The appearance of Solon and the creeping purple tendrils of his magic halt Byleth in her tracks. Dread rises in her, aware she’s run straight into a trap. She sees Solon kill Kronya, raising his hand into the sky, pulling power from her body, and feels the nauseating pulse of his magic and the incredible power behind it.

It rushes towards her, but she cannot move, bound by magic tendrils. The magic engulfs her in a roaring wind, blinding her.

And then there is only darkness.

.

She opens her eyes, but there is nothing but blackness, making her shudder and close her eyes again. It’s cold, wherever she is.

“You fool!”

Byleth opens her eyes once more with a start, and is almost blinded by a flash of green light.

And there, atop a series of stone steps, is Sothis, sitting upon a throne – a welcome sight in this nothingness. But she’s angry.

Despite that, Sothis offers her a way out of here, with her power.

“The power of a goddess. The power of the progenitor god.”

There is a price, as there always is. But Byleth knows there is no choice. Though Sothis says they will always be together, she knows she is losing someone else. 

“I’m glad,” Sothis says with a small smile, “that it was you to whom my fate was bound.”

“Thank you, Sothis,” Byleth whispers in reply. “For everything.”

As the magic builds around them, Byleth raises her hand and briefly, for just a second, she feels the warmth of Sothis’s palm against hers before she closes her eyes and inhales.

With that breath, power fills her. 

And she cuts a hole in the sky.

.

Solon does not stand a chance against her, but it’s an empty victory.

It does not return her father to her.

And Sothis is silent.

.

It takes her a couple of days to recover from the ordeal – probably not surprising. Her memories of that time are muddled. She dreamt of her father, and of Sothis, but those were just dreams. But Rhea, that song, and the things she said. Byleth isn’t sure if that is real. 

What is real is the way people look at her now. She hadn’t realised at first that her hair and eyes had changed colour – it was Dimitri who gently mentioned she looked different. 

She stares at herself for a long time in the mirror, unable to get used to the change. 

When she goes to see Rhea, Seteth is with her. There’s something new in his gaze too, but it’s not the apprehension she’s seen from many others, or the expectation she sees in Rhea. It’s concern. 

But he says nothing as Rhea tells her that she must make a visit to a Holy Tomb to receive a divine revelation from the goddess. 

Byleth holds her tongue too, certain she’s received all she ever will from Sothis. 

She does not like that Rhea wants to involve her students in this, and likes even less that she compares them to the holy warriors of old. That Rhea will also be there is not a surprise, but makes Byleth feel more unsettled.

“Much has changed,” Seteth finally says, “but your duty has not wavered. Steel your mind for the ceremony, and prepare your students well.”

_For what_? Byleth wants to ask. What do they expect to happen? 

But she does not ask, because she knows she will not get a satisfactory answer. 

.

“You seem distracted,” Felix gripes at her one day after training. “There’s no point in sparring with you today. You’re the one always telling us that distraction will get us killed.”

“Felix, the Professor has a lot on her mind.” From across the training grounds, Dimitri admonishes Felix as he stacks the training weapons. “Do not be so disrespectful.”

Felix all but snarls at Dimitri. “Was I talking to you, boar?” 

“_Alright_.” Byleth puts a stop to this before it can go any further. “Thank you, Dimitri, but Felix is right.” 

Dimitri looks unconvinced. “Anyone would be distracted at the prospect of receiving a revelation from the goddess. And you’ve… you’ve been through a lot professor. We understand.” 

“No, I _understand_ that her distraction will get her or us killed.” Felix shakes his head. “Although what the Archbishop expects to happen in some dusty tomb is a mystery to me.” 

“Yes. Well.” That dark look crosses Dimitri’s face. “We must always be prepared.” With that, he bids a polite goodbye to them both before leaving, closely followed by Dedue.

Felix glances at her and huffs, crossing his arms. “There’s no use worrying about a beast like him, Professor.”

Byleth watches him as he picks up a sword, moving in front of a training dummy. She thinks Felix might be trying to convince himself and not just her. “I worry about all my students, Felix.” 

For a moment, Felix is still, staring hard at the dummy. Then, without looking at her, he asks, “Do _you_ expect to have some kind of holy revelation when Rhea takes you to this tomb?”

“No,” Byleth answers honestly. “The goddess gave me her power to escape that dark place Solon sent me. If there was anything she wanted to tell me, she had her chance then.” Or at any point in the last year Sothis has been able to speak with her. 

She’s more worried about Rhea’s reaction if nothing of note occurs. It’s obvious the Archbishop is expecting something from this event.

Felix shakes his head. “Imagine, being on speaking terms with a goddess.” He turns away from the dummy and falls into a battle stance. “Come, Professor. Enough talking. Care you blow away your distraction with a duel?” 

“Yes.” Byleth takes a training sword herself, testing the weight of it before moving in front of Felix. She does like that idea. And she knows Felix, wanting so much to best her, won’t go easy on her. 

The perfect way to remind her to keep her focus.

.

The Holy Tomb is a vast cavern underneath the monastery.

At one end of it is a throne, one that’s familiar to Byleth. When Rhea asks her if she recognises it, she does not lie.

“So long,” whispers Rhea. “I have waited so very long for this day.”

Byleth glances at her, not liking the expression on her face. But when Rhea tells her to sit upon the throne, Byleth does so, despite her misgivings. Beside Rhea, Dimitri stands, looking apprehensive, while the rest of the students wait at a respectable distance. She meets Dimitri’s eyes briefly as she sits down. 

There is a moment of silence. 

Nothing happens. 

Byleth realises she’d been hoping to hear Sothis’s voice again, even if she hadn’t expected it.

“Well?” There’s aching hope in Rhea’s voice and Byleth raises her head to meet her anguished gaze. She shakes her head and Rhea sighs. “It was supposed to be but a step away… what could possibly be missing?”

_What did you do to me, Rhea? _

In the aftermath of her grief, questions that Jeralt’s diary raised had been ignored by Byleth. But now, sitting on this throne in a holy tomb, Byleth cannot ignore it any longer.

She stands to begin descending the steps again, debating what words to use –

– when Dimitri suddenly swings around, brandishing his lance with a look of anger on his face. “Halt! Reveal yourself!”

Figures approach from the entrance to the tomb, and Byleth quickly makes her way down the remainder of the steps, unsheathing her sword. The other Blue Lions back up to them, warily watching the approaching crowd.

They immediately recognise the Flame Emperor leading them, flanked by Imperial soldiers. 

Byleth can see Dimitri’s rage building as she assesses the threat these forces pose. This isn’t a good place for a battle, but they’ll fight their way out of this if they have to. 

Rhea’s rage is clear too, although Byleth is less bothered about the heresy Rhea feels is being committed than with the larger problem of the Empire being involved in the recent unrest – her father’s death, Remire, Solon, Kronya. She’ll stop the Flame Emperor from getting his hands on those Crest Stones only because she doesn’t want him to have more power. 

.

The fight through the tomb is brutal, but they push through to face the Flame Emperor and his general. Dedue strikes the general down as the Flame Emperor lifts his axe to swing at Byleth.

“You are the one person I did not wish to make an enemy of.”

Byleth has no time to think on these words, too busy blocking the blow. She sends back a volley of fire just as Dimitri rushes in, his attack sending the Flame Emperor to his knees, and knocking the mask off, revealing his face.

And it’s Edelgard staring back at them.

The ripple of shock runs through them all, and Byleth will always remember Dorothea’s wavering, confused whisper of ‘_Edie_?’ as the start of the war.

Dimitri starts laughing. It rattles off the old stone walls of the tomb, loud and unhinged, making even the Flame Emperor’s – Edelgard’s – soldiers glance at each other in unease. 

“Is this some kind of twisted _joke_?” She’s never heard Dimitri like this before, his voice contorted with anger and pain.

Byleth looks at him and then back at Dedue, who meets her eyes with clear worry. He’s at just as much of a loss as she is. 

Amongst them all, only Edelgard still seems unmoved. She picks herself and her axe up, battle ready. 

Dimitri advances, shaking off Byleth’s hand roughly when she tries to draw him back. All she can do is follow him, ready to defend him if necessary. Dedue keeps step with her, the others not far behind.

Shoulders shaking as he presses forward, Dimitri’s voice becomes more frenzied. “I will take the head from your shoulders,” he shouts at Edelgard, “and hang it from the gate of Enbarr!” He rushes, fast as lightning, taking down a number of Edelgard’s soldiers with ease, launching his lance at her head just as Byleth is moving to assist him.

His lances misses her by the tiniest of margins, but Dimitri hardly seems to notice, now snapping the necks of the remaining soldiers with his gloved hands. Byleth knew he was incredibly strong, but he’d always controlled himself. Now, in this blood rage, she’s not sure he won’t attack herself or Dedue, but it hardly matters, because he’s taken out Edelgard’s guards with terrifying ease.

She stands alone, but still Byleth and Dedue cautiously approach, letting Dimitri question her. It’s clear he blames her for Duscur, and it’s clear he’s going to make good on his words to take her head from her shoulders, and no one who remains is inclined to stop him, except perhaps Dorothea, who looks beyond anguished. But even she says nothing. They all know what the Flame Emperor has done. What saves Edelgard is Hubert, of course, who appears and takes her away in a flash of magic similar to that used by the man who stopped Byleth saving her father.

The tomb is littered with the bodies of the Empire soldiers, and Rhea steps over them all like they’re nothing. Her anger is still clear, though more controlled than Dimitri’s. 

And it’s obvious what’s going to happen now. Byleth may not understand Edelgard’s motivations but she’s obviously been working against them for some time. She won’t stop now that they know her identity. 

.

War is declared. Edelgard, now the Adrestian Emperor, makes her intentions known: to tear down the Church and the foundations on which Fódlan is built. 

The news reaches Garreg Mach that the Empire’s army is marching on the monastery led by Edelgard herself, and they have only two weeks to evacuate the surrounding villages and prepare their defensives.

The students are scared. Some leave, fearful of being on the wrong side of the battle, regardless of whether they hail from the Empire, Faerghus, or the Alliance. While Byleth’s Blue Lions are all uneasy – both at the prospect of war and at Dimitri’s unstable state – they all stay, as do the Golden Deer. 

They’ve all seen enough to know that they can’t run from this.

It is in one of their many meetings that Rhea informs Byleth that should she, Rhea, fall in the upcoming battle, that she entrusts her duties to Byleth. 

Seteth’s eyes cut from Rhea’s to Byleth’s, an unreadable expression on his face.

Byleth sets her jaw. “Why me?”

Shaking her head, Rhea only says, “You must have guessed it by now. The truth of who you are. Or perhaps I should say, your lost memories are surely beginning to return. I have acted all these long years as a mere proxy for you. But the duty is yours and yours alone. Only you can lead the people of Fódlan.”

Byleth can feel her teeth grinding as Rhea speaks. She knows there is nothing she can say to the Archbishop to dissuade her and what’s more, there’s no point in refusing what she’s said, not when there’s an army on their doorstep. This isn’t the time for infighting.

So she keeps her face blank and her steps light as she leaves the room, but her thoughts are whirling.

_The truth of who you are_, Rhea had said. 

_I am Byleth Eisner,_ she thinks bitterly, _daughter of Jeralt_. _No matter what you have done to me,_ _I am not your goddess, Rhea, and I will not let you decide my fate._

.

The Empire draws closer.

Byleth hardly sleeps. She knows she should try and rest more, and that she’ll need to be at her best for the upcoming battle. But at night the quiet of her room gets to her. Her own thoughts are unpleasant company.

She has no Sothis. 

Her father is gone. 

During the day, Byleth is surrounded by people – people who care for her, she knows. But she feels more lonely than she ever has before in her life. She longs to hear Jeralt’s voice, feel the comfort of his hand on her shoulder, see the dry humour that lurked in his gruff words. 

She wants to turn back the hands of time and return to when it was just the two of them and her life was simple because despite how important the people at Garreg Mach are to her, it’s because they came here that her father died and Byleth does not know how to live with this grief. She does not know how she can continue to be strong for everyone else when she feels so brittle and empty and once, at her lowest, she does try to go back, further than just a few minutes. 

But it’s impossible. Fate truly cannot be changed. 

Unable to sleep, she walks the monastery at night, haunting it like a ghost. There are guards, of course, but she knows the rotations and if she is caught, she can use the divine pulse to rewind time and try a different route. 

Her reservations about using the power have lessened considerably. 

.

Two nights before the fall of Garreg Mach, she finds Claude on one of her midnight walks.

Or perhaps it is more accurate to say he finds her. 

Byleth is on the bridge leading to the cathedral, staring sightlessly out into the endless dark. 

Claude says nothing as he approaches her. He does not ask pointlessly if she cannot sleep, simply stands by her side, his arm brushing hers. They’ve not spoken much in the last few weeks. No one has really spoken about anything that isn’t to do with preparations for the war, and she knows Claude has more on his plate than most. He’d spoken to her about some of his dealings with the Alliance lords, and he at least seems to be handling things better than Dimitri.

Byleth feels like she should turn to Claude, and say something comforting in the face of his uncharacteristic silence. It’s what she’s done for everyone else. But she does not have it in her to be strong and optimistic at the moment, not when she’s steeped in grief and war is looming and the quiet darkness of night she used to find comforting is now suffocating.

It’s Claude who speaks first, turning to lean against the stone wall of the bridge, facing her. He picks up a lock of hair from her shoulder, startling Byleth enough to raise her eyes to his. As he inspects it, he says, “I’m still not used to this.” 

She swallows heavily, dropping her gaze to watch him curl her hair around his fingers. His hand is so close to her face. “Neither am I,” she mutters, a hint of bitterness in her voice. 

“Don’t you like it?”

Byleth’s shoulders tense up. It’s not a matter of liking it. She had merged with Sothis – with a _goddess_. She and Sothis may be joined now, but Byleth doesn’t really feel any different to before beyond her ability to wield magic becoming easier. Aside from the change in her hair and eye colour, the only other change had been that explosion of power she’d used when escaped that world of darkness. She’s lost Sothis. And now, whenever she looks in the mirror Byleth is only reminded of Rhea, and she knows that is is not a coincidence. She’d seen Rhea’s face when she sat on that throne, deep in the Tomb of the Goddess. Had Rhea expected Sothis to suddenly come forward, reducing Byleth to nothing? Is that what she still hoped for, when she talked about regaining lost memories? Byleth shares a soul with Sothis – Sothis who’d been a friend to her before she’d ever been a goddess. Byleth doesn’t think Sothis is lying in wait to take over her body, but how can she be certain? 

“Hey, my friend, it’s alright,” Claude’s voice is soothing, reading the distress on her face. The hair around his finger unwinds, and he brushes it back over her shoulder, resting his hand on her arm gently, no doubt feeling the tenseness of her muscles. 

Realising her hands have balled into fists, Byleth tries to force herself to relax as she responds to Claude. “I don’t recognise myself.” Instinctively she turns into him, unclenching her hands long enough to fist them into the front of his cloak. She stares at them, bunched in the fabric, unwilling to look him in the face as she speaks, afraid that he might feel the same way she does. “I don’t even know what I am anymore.” 

Claude’s other arm comes around her, and he hugs her to him. Quite suddenly, she’s engulfed in him, even closer than they’d been when they danced at the ball and it’s… it’s overwhelming in the best possible way. 

“You’re Teach.” He breathes the words into her hair almost reverently. “You’re my friend. You’re… you…” Claude trails off, for once seemingly lost for words.

It makes Byleth draw back, just enough to look up into his face and meet his heavy gaze. His eyes are bright – not guarded, but maybe just a bit uncertain. Logically, she knows she should step back out of his arms and keeping going all the way back to her room, alone. But that sensibility is gone – perhaps it left at the exact moment Claude put his arms around her and called her his friend. 

She should school herself. Compose her face and walk away. She’s long since realised her feelings for Claude are more than what they should be. Even without Sothis around, Byleth can’t lie to herself about this crush she’s been nurturing for months, not anymore. But he’s a student, and he’s still something of a mystery. And even though Byleth trusts him, she’s still not sure what he thinks of her. She’d thought – before _this_ and the war – that he’d graduate and go become the leader of the Alliance and forget about her and she’d… she’d just have to deal with another loss in her life. 

That could still happen, of course. But… peering up into his green eyes, she asks the question of him that’s been on the tip of her tongue for some time – ever since he apologised for being suspicious of her. “Do you trust me, Claude?” She hates how quiet her voice sounds, an unfamiliar tremor in her usually steady tone. But she needs to know.

He rests one of his hands on her cheek and she can’t help but lean into it. 

“I do.” Claude says it so earnestly that it makes her breath catch. If Claude wasn’t wearing gloves she’d be feeling the touch of his skin against her cheek. 

But Byleth isn’t wearing gloves and she’s itching to touch him, and unlike the ball, they’re alone here, shrouded in darkness. No one is watching. So she releases her grip on his cloak and reaches up to gently take his face in her own hands. Claude’s eyes flutter shut at the touch, and he leans down to accommodate her, letting her fingers dance across the smooth skin of his cheek. Briefly she lets one hand touch the soft hair of his braid before she returns to his face, delighting in such a simple touch. A finger trails down his nose and, unable to resist, she keeps moving downwards until she rests her finger on his lower lip

Claude’s eyes snap open with a look of intensity that Byleth is sure is matched in her own. His mouth parts under her fingers and he leans down just as she stretches up…

In truth, Byleth isn’t sure who kisses who first, or if they’ve been moving in ever decreasing circles around each other for so long that this has always been inevitable. All she knows is that she’s very suddenly pressed against the stone wall of the bridge, feeling it digging into her lower back, while she can feel every line of Claude’s body against her as his lips move across hers. 

Byleth tangles her hands in his hair, anchoring him to her and when she parts her lips and he deepens the kiss she arches up into him, feeling like she can’t get close enough. One of his hands is holding the back of her head, while the other keeps a steady grip on her waist. 

Claude pulls back slightly to drag in a heaving breath, still so close she can feel him whisper her name against her lips. She pulls him back to her again, not content with one kiss. She wants _more_, and Claude seems happy to oblige, pressing himself so close to her she bows back against the low wall. When Claude slides a hand down over her hip to grab a thigh and hitch her leg over his waist, a gasp escapes her, that Claude swallows. 

There’s a noise in the distance – the drag of a heavy door opening and closing. It’s not that close and sound carries in the dead of night, but it’s enough to startle them both – two people usually so very aware of their surroundings. 

Claude detaches from her slowly, taking a step back as he tries to steady himself. When she licks her lips, he tilts his head up to the sky and lets out a long breath. 

“You need to stop looking at me like that.” His voice is strained. 

Byleth squeezes her eyes shut, trying to get herself under control. Her hands find purchase on the cool stone of the wall behind her and she shivers, not from the cold, but from the mere memory of Claude’s lips. But she cannot help but wonder if this is a terrible idea, if she’s just destroyed this friendship and for a half second – out of this fear – she considers using the Divine Pulse to undo it. 

But she dismisses it – that’s not fair on Claude and this is hardly a life or death situation. She’ll deal with the consequences of her actions.

But when Byleth opens her eyes again, Claude is looking at her with a smile. There’s a hint of ruefulness in it, but no regret. 

“It probably isn’t the best time for this, is it?” 

Byleth shakes her head, knowing he’s right and wishing he wasn’t. “I hope you don’t regret it?” She asks quietly.

“Never.” 

She takes a deep breath. “We need to focus.”

“Right,” Claude says with a nod, though it seems a little half-hearted. “War, and all that.”

“Right,” she echoes his words dully. “War.”

“Can I still call you my friend?” The almost hidden vulnerability in the question brings a smile to Byleth’s face, and her fingers itch to touch him again.

“Of course. Always.” 

He runs his hands though his hair, which is already hopelessly dishevelled from her hands. “You really are sort of… impossible,” he whispers. 

She blinks, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

He gestures to her like the answer should be obvious. “You wield the Sword of the Creator, you’re a tactical genius, and you have this strange ability to earn the trust of anyone you cross paths with. Not to mention that whole thing where you _sliced open the sky to return from the void_.” Claude shakes his head, seemingly exasperated.

The tiniest laugh escapes Byleth, and Claude levels her with a glare that she’s fairly certain he learned from her. 

“Oh, _now_ you’re laughing?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that you seem almost annoyed about it.”

“Yeah, well… I still think you should have picked the Golden Deer, Teach.’ Claude’s tone has lightened, but she knows he’s serious. She’s always smiled away this comment from him before, but with war pressing down on them, she decides to share her thoughts on that.

“I think it was right of me to pick the Blue Lions,” she murmurs, her gaze travelling past him to land on the dark looming shape of the monastery behind him. She considers her words carefully. “You, Claude, you’ll always be fine. I know you have your dreams and you wanted to use me to help you achieve them–“ he starts in surprise but Byleth keeps talking “– but you’ll be fine. You’ll do what you’ve set out to do, with or without me. Dimitri needs me.”

He frowns. “Dimitri – no, actually, I don’t want to talk about Dimitri.” 

_Because you know I’m right_, Byleth thinks. 

Claude continues. “You knew I wanted something from you?” 

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Claude.” There’s a teasing lilt to Byleth’s tone, but the truth is that she was watching Claude as much as he watched her. There’s a lot she doesn’t know about him but she’d like think that she’s begun to figure him out by reading between the lines of what he says, although she’s sure she’s barely scratched the surface. 

“You did tell me I need to work on my stealth,” he says quietly. He sounds very solemn, and Byleth tilts her head to the side, looking up at him again. “I… didn’t trust you at first. You know this. It made no sense for Rhea to make you a professor. I knew there had to be more to it. And then you picked up the Sword of the Creator and I wanted that power to use to my advantage.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s not like that anymore. I don’t want you to think that I’d ever kiss you just because of that. There’s… there’s a lot I want to tell you, Teach.” Claude steps closer to her again, and Byleth thinks that might not be the best idea because despite her sensible words, all she wants is to kiss him again. “And, ah, maybe after we defend Garreg Mach we can talk again.” His eyes drift to her lips. “About this.”

She nods, wordless.

“But,” his voice drops to a whisper, “for now, can I kiss you again? Just once more?”

Again, she nods, already stepping forward into his arms, seeking out his lips. One kiss turns into two which turns into more, but Byleth doesn’t mind. She’d expected no less.

They only part when the guard rotation makes it way to the bridge, and then they sneak back to the dorms. 

Byleth doesn’t invite him into her room, and he doesn’t ask. They both know this isn’t the time. And they both know that if one asks, the other will say yes. 

At her door, Claude presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head and then steps back. 

She opens it, before looking back at him, not wanting him to leave but knowing it’s for the best.

“After?”

He nods, a small smile crossing his face. “After,” he confirms. 

She returns his smile, finally entering her room and closing the door behind her. She leans against it, wanting to hear Claude leave, which it takes him a few minutes to do. 

Despite her worries – about the war, about what Rhea wants from her, and especially about Dimitri, it takes some time for the smile to leave her face.

.

It’s to be her last smile for some time.

No one is smiling when the Empire army attacks. They fight: the Blue Lions, the Golden Deer, and the few Black Eagles that remain, along with the Knights of Seiros, but Edelgard’s army overwhelms them. They’re completely outnumbered. 

Byleth watches Rhea’s last ditch effort to save them – that she can turn into a dragon is hardly even surprising at this point – but her own attempts to help Rhea have her walking straight into the hands of the enemy. 

She’s unable to dodge the powerful magic sent her way, magic that chillingly reminds her of the time Solon had sent her to that dark place.

This magic, at least, doesn’t do that, but she’s still unable to block it and it sends her tumbling off her feet. She slides across the ground, desperately grasping for anything to hold onto, but there’s nothing and suddenly there’s no more ground beneath her, and she’s falling. The sky is above her, rapidly becoming smaller as she falls into ever increasing darkness.

Above her, somewhere, Byleth can hear Rhea’s roar of despair. It’s the last thing she hears before there is nothing. 

Garreg Mach is lost, and so is Byleth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone for reading so far, and please enjoy this stupidly long chapter. <3


	5. Chapter 5

Though they are forced to flee Garreg Mach with the Adrestian army breathing down their necks, Claude never once thinks that Teach doesn’t make it out. He expects that she’s with Dimitri and the other Blue Lions, making their way to Faerghus just as he and the Golden Deer and a few others head east into the safety of Alliance territory.

In the chaos – between the demonic beasts and the seemingly never ending Imperial troops and then that _dragon_ that appeared – there had been no time to look for her or anyone else. Ignatz and Hilda were injured. Marianne was spent. They were stumbling over the bodies of former students and Imperial soldiers alike. For all the training and battles they’ve been in, nothing could have prepared them for this – the brutal reality of war.

Claude’s not happy about leaving without finding Byleth. It doesn’t seem right that this is how they’re separated, not after what had happened between them just two nights ago. 

But the others need him and Teach, more than anyone he knows, can take care of herself. He’ll get the Golden Deer out and she’ll get the Blue Lions out and they’ll find each other. _After_, like they’d said. 

.

It’s not until he’s back in Derdriu, worse for wear but alive, that Claude hears the news. The Knights of Seiros – what’s left of them – are searching for Archbishop Rhea. She’d disappeared during the battle of Garreg Mach. No one has seen her since. She is lost.

And so is Professor Byleth.

.

At first, Claude takes the news well.

It doesn’t change his initial thoughts. She’s in hiding, probably in Faerghus with Dimitri. Edelgard is hunting the prince. It’s probably dangerous for them to let anyone know their position. Maybe she’s even with Lady Rhea. 

Regardless, it never crosses Claude’s mind to think that Byleth is dead. 

But still, he itches to get on a wyvern and search for her himself.

Unfortunately, as soon as he returns to Derdriu, he’s immediately embroiled in Alliance politics. A Roundtable is called straight away to discuss what the Empire’s actions mean for them, and what their next move should be. 

Claude can’t leave. He’s watched from all sides – both by friends and enemies. His grandfather’s health has worsened considerably in the last few months, and it’s clear to all that the current reigning Duke wouldn’t be with them much longer. Claude solidifies his position, learning all that he can while his grandfather still lives. But he can’t put a foot wrong, not with so many suspicious of him and vying for power themselves. 

It’s bittersweet. Becoming the Alliance leader is a stepping stone to reaching his goal, but Claude is fond of his grandfather, who has always seemed to want to do all he could for his grandson. 

Months pass with no news on Dimitri or Byleth, or even Rhea. 

But he still does not allow himself to think the worst.

.

And then two things happen almost at once: his grandfather dies, and so does Dimitri. 

.

Claude, as the new Duke Riegan, is still settling into the role when the news arrives.

Dimitri, crown prince of Faerghus, has been recently executed, found guilty of murdering his uncle, the current regent. 

The missive that arrives announcing the news is Empire propaganda. The nobles around him are abuzz with the news, but Claude keeps his face easy, revealing nothing of his inner turmoil and the grief and anger he feels at hearing that Dimitri is dead.

It should be obvious to anyone that Dimitri was set up in a successful attempt to wipe out the Blaiddyd royal line and consolidate the Empire’s power in western Faerghus. Claude knows damn well Dimitri isn’t guilty of regicide. He knows that even some of the nobles around him believe it is a farce – all they’re doing is letting him know that they’re on the Empire’s side. 

The news sends a ripple of panic through the people of the Alliance. They rightly fear the Empire will soon turn their attention towards them. 

Claude starts juggling more balls to keep the Alliance from fracturing, somehow managing to keep a smile on his face even when several members of the Roundtable repeatedly question his legitimacy. 

Too many of them are willing to capitulate to Edelgard but, for now at least, Claude still has enough allies to keep the peace and a face of neutrality. But he knows it won’t last forever. It won’t take much to tip this delicate balance over.

.

Publicly, he keeps up a strong face. 

But privately, he begins to struggle.

.

He searches out more news about Dimitri’s capture and death. Claude has his own spies and connections, and knows better than to trust only one source of information. 

But in all the retellings he can find, there is no mention of Teach. There’s nothing that could possibly, even remotely, be connected to her. 

Wherever she is now, she hasn’t been with Dimitri. If she had been, someone would have mentioned her, even in passing. If Teach had been captured, Edelgard would have bragged. They’d _know_. 

But then, if Teach had been with Dimitri, he would never have been captured in the first place because… well, because he’d have had _Teach_ with him. 

Claude’s hopes and assumptions were based on nothing. Teach is missing. Well and truly missing. And he still can’t leave Derdriu to look for her.

.

He still does not allow himself to think that she might be dead. Even though it’s been almost two years, and even though when he mentions it to Hilda, she gets the most pitying look on her face. 

It’s obvious Hilda thinks she’s gone.

Claude does not.

.

Instead, he sends out a search party. Leonie heads it, eager to help. Claude’s not sure if it’s out of her loyalty to Jeralt or if it’s over some lingering guilt about the way she’d treated Byleth over her misplaced jealously. Either way, Claude knows she’ll do a thorough job.

They start looking at Garreg Mach, and then expand their search outwards from there. 

Of Byleth, they find nothing. The only news Leonie’s reports contain is the status of the surrounding areas, and how badly the people are suffering in the midst of this war. It’s frustrating for Claude to read, unable to do anything useful to help them; too bogged down in political quagmire.

Eventually it becomes too dangerous for them to search in Adrestia or parts of Fearghus. Even southern Alliance territory has become precarious to those known to be against the Empire. Claude’s efforts may be keeping the wider peace and the Empire off their backs for the moment, but it doesn’t prevent the ever increasing suspicion as people wonder who is friend and who is foe. Smaller skirmishes are breaking out too often.

Leonie’s letters also make it increasingly clear that she now believes the search is pointless. She’s certain Byleth has died. 

Claude calls off the search, but remains angry at Leonie’s words for some time. 

Byleth is alive. She has to be.

.

He misses her. He misses her in a way that belies belief. How can it be possible for this much time to have passed and to still miss someone so much it aches? 

Back at the academy, there had been times when he and Teach had gone days or even over a week hardly seeing or speaking too each other. But Claude had always known she was there, and that there would be time. He’d find her fishing, or she’d ask him to tea. 

He’d found her on the bridge that night – that last night – like there was an invisible string bringing him right to her.

They always found each other.

How is she now so lost he can’t find her?

.

Years slip by, like sand through his fingers and he cannot forget her.

.

.

.

.

.

In the almost five years since the battle for Garreg Mach, the monastery has fallen into neglect. Claude knows the knights have abandoned it, too busy in their search for Rhea. He hasn’t received a letter from Seteth in a long time – he can only hope he and Flayn are safe. 

Claude lands his wyvern lightly, just outside the greenhouse. Hilda follows not long after. 

Claude had intended to take this trip to Garreg Mach alone, scheming to get away from Derdriu without anyone knowing. 

But Hilda had read his intentions, and had been waiting for him in the wyvern stables. 

“It was only a matter of time before you did this, Claude,” she’d said with a sad smile before looking away and obviously forcing a brighter tone into her voice. “And I’m not going to let you run off on your own and leave me here to deal with everything while you’re gone.”

So Claude had acquiesced and let her come along, although he didn’t really have much choice. 

He knows Hilda thinks his hope that Byleth is alive is ridiculous, and he suspects that she thinks this trip might be some kind of closure for him. To accept that she’s gone. That might be the reason why she came with him to Garreg Mach instead of making more of an effort to talk him out of it.

Claude’s not even sure what he’s hoping to find here himself.

.

Hilda respects his request to be alone, although she’s not happy about it. They’ve no way of knowing if there are any bandits or other dangers lurking. 

But so far, as he carefully makes his way up past the dormitories, all Claude sees are some cats and dogs that ignore him, now left to fend for themselves. 

He thinks of Teach’s big orange cat, and how she always looked when she fussed over him, with a small indulgent smile. 

His heart aches.

.

He goes to Teach’s room, and it’s more difficult than he anticipates.

It’s not like Claude had expected to find her here. He didn’t have the hope that he’d open the door to her room and she’d be sitting at the desk, like she’d been waiting for him.

But the sight of the empty room, turned upside down by looters and now covered in a layer of dust, hurts. Grief hits him like a physical blow to the chest and he leans against the doorframe, taking a shuddering breath.

Byleth isn’t here and she hasn’t _been_ here in years. 

Claude has nothing tangible of her – no keepsake, no memento. And while Hilda certainly has her suspicions that he and Teach were closer than they strictly should have been, Claude has told no one what happened between them. He only has his memories of his time with her; their conversations, the small, quiet ways she began to open up to him, the taste of her kiss. On their last night together, that night on the bridge he’d allowed himself to truly see her at this side, working with him to achieve his dreams. _Their_ dreams, hopefully. She may have picked the Blue Lions, and that had rankled Claude for a long time, but it wouldn’t matter once he graduated. They could stand side by side then.

Claude can’t let go of that. If he does, he’ll truly have _nothing_. 

.

It takes him a while to step into the room properly. When he does, he sits on the bed, in the same place he sat in years ago when Byleth had grieved for her father. She’d fallen asleep against his shoulder.

It had stunned Claude, at the time, that she’d allowed herself to be so vulnerable around him. He had carefully removed her boots and put her to bed with a reverence he hadn’t known he had in herself. 

He’d allowed himself the one indulgence of brushing her hair back from her face after he’d settled her. It had been strange to see her asleep, her face smoothed out and peaceful. She’d so often had a crease between her brows by then, either worried or grieving.

And now, Claude sits on that same bed in this room that’s only dusty and empty, and it’s his turn to grieve. He drops his head into his hands, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, unwilling to shed tears. That seems like admitting defeat.

But for the first time since he’d fled Garreg Mach all those years ago, despair begins to curl around his heart. It’s difficult to keep hope in this dead monastery full of ghosts.

_Where are you? Why can’t I find you?_

.

He and Hilda eat a quiet meal beside their wyverns. Her eyes are as red-rimmed as his. Neither of them mention it. 

“It’s… hard to be back, when it’s like this, isn’t it?” Her voice is quiet, like she’s afraid to be too loud.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice hollow. “Yeah. It is.” 

.

They return to Derdriu, heavier with sorrow.

It takes Hilda two days before she asks him, deceptively casual, did he find anything at the monastery. Claude had been waiting for this. 

He’s honest. “There was nothing.” 

She sighs. “I’m sorry, Claude. I know how much you–“

Claude shakes his head, eyes flashing at her. “She’s not dead.”

“Claude.” Hilda’s tone is laden with disbelief.

“She’s not dead, Hilda,” he repeats, his voice certain. Claude meets her concerned gaze head on. “I’d _know_ if she died, Hilda. It’s like how I always knew when she walked into a room. I’d know if she left.”

Something in his tone or in his face seems to startle Hilda, like she’s just realised something. “Oh, Claude,” she whispers sorrowfully and he knows she won’t ever believe him, not until Byleth turns up again.

“She’s come back from worse than this,” he insists, “ and she could be a prisoner in Enbarr, or wherever Rhea is. Look, you don’t have to believe it. But there’s no proof that she’s dead–“

“There’s no proof that she’s _alive_.” Hilda is growing frustrated. “This is eating away at you, and I can’t imagine how it feels to lose someone you love, but–“

_Love_.

Claude suddenly stands, done with the conversation. “You don’t have to believe it, Hilda,” he says again. “Just respect that I do.” 

When he leaves the room, she doesn’t follow.

.

Their friendship becomes strained for a while afterwards, and they keep their conversations focused on Alliance business. But they make up eventually, helped by the arrival of Hilda’s brother.

Holst picks up on the tension immediately and as the three of them share a dinner on the evening of his arrival, he tells them both in no uncertain terms to pull their heads out of their asses, ignoring Hilda’s baleful look as he cheerfully cuts into his meat. 

He’s right, of course, and things return to normal. 

But an unspoken agreement forms between Claude and Hilda to not mention Byleth to each other, although as time marches on, Claude still sometimes sees Hilda looking at him with those sorrowful eyes and he knows what she’s thinking. 

He never turns away. Instead, he gives her a big smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and tells her she’s too pretty to be pouting. 

And Hilda, his friend, knowing he’s hurting, smiles back, just as fake. 

And so, they both keep up appearances.

.

Claude stares out of the window of his office on the luxurious Riegan estate. The view is beautiful – looking out over the sea, but he hardly sees it.

The date of what would have been the Millennium Festival at the monastery is fast approaching. Five years since the Battle of Garreg Mach and five years since he’s seen Teach. 

He’s held onto his memories of her so tightly, he doesn’t know how to let them go. But he’s beginning to wonder if he should try to. He’s held onto that promise made just before the battle – a promise that they’d speak _after._ But how long will that _after_ take? How long can he wait?

What did his visit to the monastery even accomplish? 

It’s been five years and he’s barely holding onto the peace in the Alliance. He’s facing down ever increasing challenges to his leadership and the continent is still at war. There is chaos and death and his dreams seem further away than ever.

_Five years_, he thinks. And nothing.

Five years and he still misses her so much it hurts. 

Maybe Hilda is right, and Byleth is gone.

Maybe it is time to let her go.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

_How long do you intend to sleep?_

.

.

Byleth wakes suddenly, all at once. Above her is a clear blue sky, a brightness that makes her blink rapidly. A face appears, a man: unfamiliar to her, wearing a look of wary concern.

She’s disorientated, but her hand instinctively reaches for her sword, although her arm feels heavy and her movement is sluggish. It takes her a second to realise it isn’t where it should be. 

Forcing herself to sit up, she presses her hand to her head, closing her eyes as she feels a headache forming.

Her most recent memory is of falling. Endlessly falling after a hard fought battle. Rhea turning into a dragon. The monastery under siege, Empire soldiers everywhere. Her students fighting for their lives.

She needs to get back to them. 

“Hey, take it easy!”

Byleth opens her eyes to regard the man squatting in front of her. He’s obviously not a soldier. A farmer, probably, from the looks of him. Hadn’t they all been evacuated? Where is she? She ignores him for a moment, glancing around for her sword and is relieved to see it lying nearby in the muddy bank of the river. The man follows her gaze, warily, and says something, but Byleth isn’t listening because she remembers more.

No. Her most recent memory is _not_ of the battle and of falling into darkness.

It is of Sothis’s voice, speaking to her in that nothingness. _Your eyes must open now._

_Sothis_, she whispers, searching for her presence as she has ever since they’d merged. But as always, there’s nothing. 

Instead, she finally focuses on the man. “Where are we?”

He looks a little relieved that she’s talking. “Marlogne,” he answers, and his eyes travel to the Sword of the Creator lying nearby. It’s obvious to anyone that it’s not an ordinary sword. He likely thinks she’s some noble. “What are you doing in a place like this? You were just floating down the river… how are you feeling?”

Byleth can feel her strength returning, and she takes a deep breath and hauls herself to her feet, ignoring the hand the man extends to help. She takes a few tentative steps and picks up her sword, grimacing slightly at the mud and dirt that covers it and herself.

Her thoughts are whirling as she sheaths the sword. _Marlogne_, she thinks. One of the small farming villages at the base of the monastery. At least she’s not far from Garreg Mach, if she’s remembering correctly… “Garreg Mach should be just upstream, then?” She asks, knowing she has to get back there immediately, looking in the direction the monastery sits in for any sign of the Empire’s army.

He looks surprised. “Well, yes, but it’s been abandoned for years.” 

She stiffens before she turns back to him with a glare, not in the mood for nonsense. “_What_?” 

The man fidgets under her stern look. “You know… since the battle five years ago? The Church abandoned it… Are you… are you sure you’re alright? Did you hit your head?”

Byleth frowns. “What year is it?”

“It’s… it’s the Ethereal Moon of 1185,” the man replies, looking increasingly bewildered. He takes a step back from her.

Byleth sucks in a breath. _How is that possible? Sothis, please answer me._ “And the monastery has been abandoned? For five years?” She needs clarification.

He nods, answering readily despite the fact that he’s still obviously flummoxed by her questioning. “Yes. Uh. It’s dangerous there now. It’s sad to think that tomorrow would have been the Millennium Festival, but…” He gestures around him. “No one’s thinking about things like that these days, especially not with the Archbishop still missing. Everyone’s just trying to survive this war, whatever side they’re on.”

Byleth takes a moment to process all of that. There’s no reason to think this man is lying to her, but she wants to believe he is. How could five years have passed for her in the blink of an eye? What did that mean for the people she cares about? 

If what he says is true then Garreg Mach fell in the battle. Rhea is missing? Could she be dead? They are still at war.

_Five years._

She needs to know where her former students are – if they’re even still alive. The Knights of Seiros. _Claude_. He must still live. He has to. She needs to find Dimitri. He must be fighting Edelgard, if he’s still alive. She _needs_–

She needs to get to Garreg Mach immediately. 

Turning away from the man, she begins striding away, ignoring the pain in her head and a lingering weakness in her body.

The man calls out after her. “Where are you going?”

“The monastery,” she replies, without stopping her stride.

“Wait!” He runs up to her side. “There are thieves running amok up there – it isn’t safe. And they say that a whole regiment of Imperial troops went up there recently and were slaughtered.” 

Byleth’s hand tightens on the hilt of the Sword of the Creator, anger flaring in her as she thinks of the Empire and Edelgard. 

He continues. “Really, you should stay away from the monastery.”

She shakes her head, before halting suddenly. The man stops too, looking relieved. “No,” Byleth says evenly, eyes distant like she can already see the monastery. “I have to go. My students need me. Thank you for your help.” 

With that she takes off again, and this time he doesn’t follow, just watches her, incredulous. “_Students_? Didn’t you hear me? There’s been no students there for _years_. The place is a ruin.” He watches her walk away, throwing his arms up in defeat. If this crazy woman is determined to go to the monastery, he can’t stop her, especially not when she’s got that evil looking sword. “Don’t end up dead,” he calls out before she’s out of earshot. “I did try to warn you.”

This time, Byleth doesn’t stop, hardly hearing his parting words. She’s remembering a promise made in simpler times – a promise for the Blue Lions to reunite at the Millennium Festival. Is it too much to hope that this promise will be kept?

.

It’s a mild, sunny day, but Garreg Mach is cold and dark. As Byleth picks her way through the monastery, she cannot deny the truth of what the farmer had told her. The place is in bad shape, and everything smells of neglect. And even on the short journey here she had seen the effects of the last five years of war on the countryside.

It’s eerily silent, and Byleth steps lightly on quiet feet, alert for any movement. It pains her more than she’d thought it would, to see a place she called home destroyed and neglected. 

As she makes her way through the great hall, a sudden noise to her left makes Byleth turn sharply towards the sound, drawing her sword. But it’s just a dog, obviously startled by Byleth. With a whine, it slinks away, out into the courtyard.

Byleth watches it go, wondering about all the animals that had also called this place home. Had all the cats and dogs gone feral, left to fend for themselves? Had the survivors of the battle gotten the horses, pegasus’s and wyverns out? _Were_ there any survivors?

She presses on.

She finds the first body just before the steps leading up to the Goddess Tower. Byleth stills, overcome by a fear that this is someone she knows.

But it’s only for a second, as even at a distance she can see that the body is clad in Imperial armour and, as she gets closer, it’s clear that he died only recently. His helmet has been knocked off, and his eyes remain open, his expression twisted with pain and fear. The cause of death is obvious – he’s been sliced open from sternum to groin, so viciously that it even gives Byleth, so used to violence and death, pause. 

More bodies litter the stairwell, and Byleth picks her way around them. Each of them died as violently as the first, and their blood stains the stone steps. She keeps her hand on her sword and magic at her fingertips – she has no intention of ending up like these soldiers.

.

At the top of the stairs, she immediately spies the person hunched in the shadows. Pausing, still on guard, she takes him in – the lance, the blond hair, and she wonders if this is who she thinks it is. And then he lifts his head, and she _knows_. 

If she still needed proof that five years has passed, it’s here, in this Dimitri hunched in the shadows, covered in the blood of the soldiers he’s killed. A patch covers one eye, making her wonder what horrors he’s been through in the last few years. _Who did this to you?_

Byleth relaxes her stance, letting her sword fall back into its sheath, and approaches him. Dimitri makes no acknowledgement of her until she extends her hand towards him. 

His head drops again.

“I should’ve known that one day you’d be haunting me as well.” His voice is low, thick with disuse. Ignoring her hand, he stands up and turns away from her.

Any words Byleth might have spoken die on her lips. Does he think she’s some kind of ghost? Her hand drops to her side. She looks at Dimitri’s broad back, struck by how much taller he is now.

She takes a deep breath. “Dimitri–“

He suddenly whirls back around to face her. Out of the shadows, she can see his face more clearly: the dark shadows under his eyes, the gaunt look of his skin, and the gleam in his eye that she’d seen five years ago. Byleth knows she was right to worry about him then.

“_What must I do to be rid of you_?” Dimitri’s anguish and anger is clear and Byleth’s heart cracks. His head drops, like he can’t bear to see her gaze. “I will kill that woman, I swear it. Do not look at me with scorn in your eyes!”

Byleth knows there’s no scorn in her expression. She is only unbearably sad. “Dimitri,” she whispers again, not knowing what to say. “Everything will be okay.” 

His eyes raise to hers again and something – either her face or her words, she doesn’t know, seems to shock him into silence for a moment. She’s about to speak again when he says shakily, “You.. It can’t be! You’re alive?!” But the surprise quickly leaves him before a dangerous expression crosses his face, and he accuses her of being an Imperial spy. 

Her heart cracks again as the guilt seeps in. She’d somehow been sleeping for five years, untouched, while others suffered. 

“I’m not a spy, Dimitri,” she says softly, searching for the right words to say. “And I’m not here to kill you.” She wants to ask him what’s happened and why he’s alone here instead of in Faerghus, leading his country except… is he even able to lead? Why is there no one with him? Where’s Dedue? 

But she doesn’t ask, especially not when her words only make him scoff and stalk by her, knocking her aside on the way. 

He’s almost to the top of the stairwell when her quiet words stop him. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Am I?” He almost hisses, and Byleth knows her words are poorly chosen. He’s clearly not been safe. It’s obviously not okay. Nothing is okay.

He stalks away, and after a moment of hesitation, Byleth follows, unwilling to leave him alone. Dimitri moves quickly, ignoring her completely, as he descends the steps and heads into the cathedral.

Guilt gnaws at her. Yes, she’d worried about Dimitri five years ago, and after Edelgard’s betrayal it had become more than clear that something was seriously wrong. But what had she done about it? Nothing, except brought him onto a battlefield and probably made it all worse. 

“Dimitri,” she calls after him. “What have you been doing the past five years?”

He still won’t look at her. “I have been dead, more or less.” 

And with that, without even known what he’s been through, Byleth’s unbeating heart breaks.

.

Everything she says seems to be wrong and Byleth isn’t even sure if Dimitri wants her around. She’s on edge, half convinced he’s going to attack her at times. He’s asked no questions about where she’s been. He seems so _haunted_.

She’s still not willing to leave him alone. She can’t, even if she doesn’t know what to do to help him or where to go from here. So she follows Dimitri to remove the thieves that have taken up residence in the monastery, his angry words rolling about in her head. 

His fury is tangible as he charges into battle, seemingly heedless to any injury as he unleashes his rage on the thieves. They die the same way as those Imperial soldiers did. 

Byleth had hoped coming to the monastery would provide some answers, but she’s left only with more questions and an ever increasing pit of guilt and sadness in her stomach.

.

There are more thieves than Byleth expects, but to her surprise, Gilbert and her former students all arrive. At first, she’s hopeful.

But then she realises that Dedue is not among them. 

And afterwards, once the thieves have been taken care of, she finds out why that is. 

When Dimitri says, in short words, that Dedue died so he could escape execution in Fhirdiad, Byleth feels it like a blow to the gut, and she can see the same on the faces of the others. Their hope had been that, with Dimitri alive, it meant so too was Dedue. 

Dimitri also seems disinclined to treat the others any better than he has her, and he certainly doesn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation. His desire for revenge against Edelgard and the Empire is all he’s interested in, and it doesn’t take long before he disappears back into the cathedral.

Byleth sees the worried glances her students are exchanging with each other – except for Felix, who watches Dimitri depart with narrowed eyes, and Sylvain, who watches Felix. They’re all obviously unsure how to deal with this Dimitri so focused on revenge, who is so angry he can’t even say Edelgard’s name.

_That woman._

.

Gilbert, at least, finally tells her what she needs to know – the status of Fódlan, primarily the fall of the Kingdom, the murder of the regent and how it was pinned on Dimitri. Dimitri’s supposed death, and Edelgard’s attempts to break the resistance in eastern Faerghus. The nobles of the west of the Kingdom have almost entirely defected to the Empire. Fhirdiad is lost. Byleth is beginning to get a picture of just how bad things have been, and what Dimitri has been through.

He says nothing of the Leicester Alliance, not until Byleth asks, half afraid to be direct and say Claude’s name out loud. But she needs to know if he lives. Gilbert pauses before he answers, and those few seconds are agony for Byleth.

“The Alliance has had their share of trouble,” he finally says, in that solemn way of his. “From what I’ve heard, they’re on the point of collapse too, torn between those who support the Empire and those who oppose her. House Gloucester leads the Empire’s supporters, while House Riegan leads the other faction. It’s said that the only thing holding the Alliance together at this point is the new Duke, young as he is.”

“Claude?” Byleth whispers his name like a prayer.

Gilbert’s eyebrows raise in surprise at her tone, but only briefly. “Yes.” He pauses in realisation. “Of course, he was a student here too. I’m glad to tell you that he’s survived. While I know that the young Gloucester heir also lives, I’m afraid I do not know the status of the other Golden Deer students.”

Byleth nods, relief washing over like a crashing wave. Claude is alive, and fighting against Edelgard. Even if Lorenz has sided with the Empire, she’s glad to hear he’s survived too. She can only hope the other Golden Deer have not been lost to the war.

Briefly, her thoughts drift to the students of the Black Eagles house as she wonders how they feel about Edelgard’s actions

She takes a deep breath, pulling herself together, knowing she’ll have enough time to get lost in her thoughts when she’s alone, trying pointlessly to sleep. “If Claude is fighting the Empire, could he be an ally?”

Nodding slowly, Gilbert considers. “It is certainly a possibility, but means of communication have been increasingly difficult and dangerous. Once the knights of Seiros have regrouped, and we have more people at our disposal, it may well be an option worth pursuing.”

Byleth doesn’t want to wait. She wants to tell Gilbert to get a letter to Derdriu _immediately_. But there’s no way to do that, of course. There are exactly nine of them currently in this huge, broken down monastery, with Gilbert having already sent out the soldiers with him to inform the Knights of Seiros of Byleth and Dimitri’s return. There’s no one to spare, even if the journey isn’t dangerous, and they have corpses to remove and a lot of work to do before they can even sleep tonight. It’s lucky the Blue Lions all carried more than enough rations with them on their journey to Garreg Mach – there’s enough for them all to eat for tonight, at least, but tomorrow they would have to go hunting or try find something to barter for food in the villages. If they are to remain here, there’s much work to be done to make this a functioning base of operations. 

In short, contacting the Alliance is a no-go, at last for now. They need everyone.

And they need Dimitri. He needs to see beyond his blood rage and understand it will take time before they’re ready to attack Edelgard. In the meantime, Byleth has to figure out a way to help him.

Her head is beginning to pound again. This feels like the longest day of her life, and quite suddenly, she is aware of the burden placed on her. She can see how Gilbert is looking at her, knowing that the news that she and Dimitri are alive will be a boost to the Kingdom resistance. And she understands it – she knows well the need for an icon and the hope they inspire during a time like this, but she already feels exhausted with it and it’s only been a day. 

.

She and the others work hard into the late evening to fix up what they can. Byleth munches some dried beef and a hunk of bread Mercedes passes her, hardly tasting it. She’s not at all hungry, and she wonders at that, considering it’s technically been five years since she last ate.

While the monastery is a picture of neglect, the dormitories are at least still intact with no structural damage done to the building itself. Most anything of value inside them has been looted, though there’s still some furniture and bits and pieces here and there. In her old room, Byleth finds her notebooks from five years ago scattered about the room, covered in a layer of dust, some of them ripped and nibbled at by rats. She picks them up carefully, dusting them off before stacking them on her desk, although there’s likely nothing in them she needs now. She pauses as she picks up a paper she recognises – a test about historical battle tactics from Dimitri that she’d been grading the day before they went down into that tomb. The day before everything changed. She smooths it out onto her desk, swallowing down a swell of emotion as she looks at his neat handwriting and concise, clever answers before she flips it upside down.

Annette helps her clean and put some sort of order on the room, and then briefly disappears before returning with a bedroll. While the bed is still there, the blankets are long gone.

“We have a spare, Professor, so don’t worry about us,” she says with a small smile, before explaining that she’d travelled with Mercedes and that they’d packed sensibly. “You should get some rest, you’ve had a long day.” 

Byleth doesn’t argue with that.

.

But rest does not come.

_Five years._

After all she’s experienced, it seems strange that this is the thing that she’s having trouble accepting. 

Yet it is. Five years lost. _Dimitri_ all but lost. The world at war. 

She thinks of her former students, how much they’ve changed – overnight, as far as Byleth’s concerned. They’ve grown up, but all their plans have been waylaid by the war, and she can see the toll it’s already taken on them. They’re heavy with burdens, fearful for what may come.

She thinks of Dimitri, probably still in the cathedral, and of what he is now, tormented by his demons, desiring only revenge. Byleth sits up in her bedroll, drawing her knees close to herself and wrapping her arms around them, holding herself tight in a futile attempt to keep her grief at bay. 

If she had been here, instead of sleeping in the damn _ground_ for five years, she could have done something. She could have prevented Dimitri being captured in the first place. She could have saved Dedue. This might never have happened and Dedue would still be here and Dimitri wouldn’t be the angry beast Felix always accused him of being.

Five _years_.

Claude being alive is a relief, but her initial reaction to contact him immediately seems less like a good idea the more she thinks on it – although it hardly matters at this point, seeing as how it’s not even an option right now. But Byleth has cast her lot in with the Kingdom of Faerghus, not the Alliance. She still only has a shaky grasp on the current politics of Fódlan, and even Gilbert didn’t know much of what was happening in the Alliance. They can’t assume anyone will be an ally.

Whenever Seteth arrives, Byleth knows she’s going to have to have a long conversation with him, and she tries to push away her resentment at Rhea for expecting her to lead the Church. It’s a role Byleth doesn’t want and feels wholly unsuited and uncomfortable with… but there’s too much at stake for her to reject it. No, if she’s the de-facto leader of the Church until they find Rhea, she cannot show her doubts.

Outside, she hears it begin to rain, matching her mood. 

She lies down again and tries to sleep. 

.

But the moon rises high in the sky behind the heavy clouds and still she cannot sleep.

She mourns. 

For Dimitri, for Dedue. For everyone lost in this senseless war. For herself and for what she’d lost. For what they’d all lost. 

Once again, like she had before, she fruitlessly tries to wind time back, pushing the Divine Pulse further than she should. 

All she succeeds in doing is prolonging this endless night and making her head pound. 

The room begins to feel suffocating, like it’s filled with ghosts. She thinks of the empty room beside hers, where Dedue used to sleep and she knows she can’t stay in here any longer. Throwing on her boots and cloak, Byleth leaves the room like something is chasing her, out into the wet night.

In truth, she’s glad it’s raining, because without the sound of rain hitting the ground and buildings around her, the silence would be deafening. A reminder of the dead.

She walks without thinking until she finds herself on the bridge, in the same spot she’d been only a couple of nights ago. Except it’s really been five years, and tonight there is no Claude to make her smile and kiss her so that she can forget, even temporarily, her troubles. There’s no one. 

She could keep walking towards the cathedral and see if Dimitri is still there, but Byleth finds she doesn’t have the strength to face him again, not yet. She knows she needs to settle herself before dealing with him. She _knows_ they’re all expecting her to help him, but she doesn’t know if she can. 

It doesn’t mean she won’t try, of course. But not tonight. Not when she’s feeling worn down to the bone.

Shivering, Byleth sticks her hands in her pockets for warmth. When they bump against something soft, she immediately knows what it is.

Gingerly, she takes out the small bag containing the ring her father gave her. Untying the bag, she holds the ring carefully, running her thumb over the precious stones embedded in it.

A wave of sadness hits her, and she misses her father more than ever. 

She hasn’t had a chance to visit his grave yet, and she’s half afraid to, incase it’s as ruined and desecrated as the rest of the monastery.

Byleth quickly puts the ring away, unable to look at it, too reminded of her father, too unsettled by thoughts of the one man she might ever have wanted to give it to. Both of them are out of her reach.

Despite the rain and cold, Byleth slides down the stone walls of the bridge, drawing her knees close to her body. 

She rests her head in her hands and pointlessly whispers to Sothis, hoping – needing – to hear a friendly voice. Even a reprimand, a curt tone to tell her to get up and stop feeling sorry for herself.

Anything.

But there is only silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for the comments etc on the last chapter. I really appreciate them all, and I'm so glad people are enjoying this. <3


	6. Chapter 6

It may only be lunchtime, but Claude is already exhausted. In his private office, completely alone, he allows himself a moment to rest his elbows on his desk and drop his head into his hands. Just for a moment, he closes his eyes. 

The delicate balance he’s been holding in the Alliance for the last couple of years is looking like it’s going to collapse at any second. It’s becoming more and more difficult to appease the nobles and while he still has his allies, Claude knows the Empire is putting more pressure on them all. It’s only a matter of time before something gives.

Lorenz’s alliance with the Empire continues to rankle. No, he and Lorenz aren’t exactly friends, but they’d come to an understanding during their time together at Garreg Mach. Claude can understand on some level that Lorenz doesn’t want to go against his father, but this, surely, is too important. They shouldn’t be capitulating to Edelgard’s aggression. What’s worse, is that the head of House Gloucester holds a lot of sway. And he does _not_ like Claude.

Edelgard’s attention has been on the rebellion in eastern Faerghus, but Claude knows that when she subdues that – and she will, as things stand – she’ll be free to enter Alliance territory with no opposition. All because House Gloucester bowed to her whims and opened the Bridge of Myrddin to the Empire.

Claude recalls Gloucester’s haughty attitude at the last Roundtable. He treated Claude like he was dirt under his shoe, and too many of the others took after Gloucester’s example. All of them all obviously hoping that selling out to the Empire would make them richer or more powerful. None of them able to see beyond their own noses.

But Claude has nothing to offer them to keep them on his side. Even though he still maintains staunch support from Houses Goneril and Daphnel, the balance is tipping. The number of people he can rely on grows ever smaller, as does his options. And Claude has always tried to make sure he has options. 

It this were Almyra, it might be different. But unfortunately, Claude has to stick to Fódlan rules, even now when things are getting worse. _Especially_ now, he thinks.

There’s an energetic rapping at his door which makes him straighten up slightly, but he knows by the rhythm that it’s just Hilda. She remains one of that small number he can trust, someone he can let his guard down around, even if it’s only a little.

She enters without waiting for a response, as she always does. Perching on the edge of his desk, she unceremoniously dumps some letters on it, right on top of the map he’d been studying all morning, trying and failing to figure out an impossible answer to an impossible question. 

Claude did not like to admit defeat. 

“Thanks,” he says dryly, picking them up to flick through them.

“You’re welcome, Claude. I also ordered some tea and food for you because I hear you’ve been holed up here for days.” She sighs, like the ordeal of carrying letters and ordering tea has worn her out, before brightening up. “I did get a letter from Holst yesterday. He says things are stable for now in Goneril territory, though I’m sure he’s written to you with more detail.”

“Good,” is his absent response as he tears open a letter from one of his scouts in the south west, though he’s more grateful to Hilda than his answer suggests. He pulls out his ciphers from a hidden drawer and begins to decode the letter. He’s hardly aware of a servant arriving with tea and food and Hilda poring him a cup because the contents of this letter are…

…_unbelievable_. 

He reads it once, and then returns to the start of the message again, double checking each word. His exhaustion is gone, replaced by a restless energy.

There’s no mistake. He hasn’t misread the letter.

He’s just not sure he believes it.

Claude checks again, this time looking for any irregularities – anything at all suspicious that might suggest foul play. But no, there’s nothing. Everything looks as it should. On the face of it, nothing to raise doubts. 

But that’s not enough for him, not when it contains news like this.

He puts it aside for now, before checking through the other letters. When he finds the one bearing the Daphnel crest, he tears it open, quickly scanning the contents.

_…increased activity at Garreg Mach…_

_…currently unknown allegiance, no banners sighted…_

Placing the letter down, Claude leans back in his chair, a number of emotions battling for attention. He can’t settle on any of them.

But if he can believe what he’s reading, not only is Dimitri alive, but so is Teach.

Despite his waning hope, he still hasn’t been able to fully let her go. He’s tried. Even now, after so long, it seems impossible to think she’s dead – the woman who tore open the sky. 

And yet, still… it’s hard to accept this news. It’s like someone reached into his mind and delivered his most fervent wish on a platter, and Claude doesn’t trust things to ever be that easy.

To let hope burn again, for it to turn out to be untrue… no, Claude needs to steel himself, remain cautious. Hilda’s pitying looks finally seem to have stopped, and it’s been some time since they’d spoken of Byleth. He can’t bear to have her look at him like that again.

_Byleth_…

Claude had been fascinated by Byleth as soon as he’d met her. And he’d watched her, trying to figure her out, and discover her secrets. And somehow, somewhere along the way his suspicion had fallen away and she’d become important to him. So important, and he hadn’t even fully realised it until they kissed that night on the bridge, and he’d allowed himself to wonder, to hope, that she would stand by his side.

And then she was gone and he was left grasping at air.

Should he have made more of an effort to find her? Where has she been? Where has _Dimitri_ been? 

At the same time his emotions are processing the news, Claude’s analytical mind is also at work. If he takes this as the truth, then the Faerhgus rebellion would receive an incredible boost. Their prince is somehow miraculously alive. And if they’re at Garreg Mach, does that mean they have the support of the Church of Seiros? The knights are scattered, he knows, but this could reorganise them. 

So what could this mean?

Potential allies for the Alliance, and a chance to turn the tide on this war. Byleth, returned to him. Could these letters hold the answers he’s been searching for? Or is it a ruse, some elaborate and cruel trick to finally tip the Alliance over into war. Something that he’d be a fool to fall for?

“Claude?” Hilda is looking at him with a worried expression, holding out a cup of tea to him. He realises she’s been trying to get his attention for some time while he’d been staring at the letters, lost in thought.

He takes the tea gratefully, sipping as his mind mulls over the options, still unable to settle to any one emotion.

“I can’t tell if you got good news or bad news.” Hilda drops into a chair on the other side of his desk, before delicately taking her own cup and saucer into her hands.

“If it can be trusted,” Claude says slowly, still weighing his options up, “it’s good news.”

“Oh?”

He takes a deep breath. “According to these letters, Dimitri is alive, and so is Teach.”

Hilda’s cup rattles as she drops it back in the saucer. Some tea splashes out. “Claude, that’s… impossible.” Her voice is flat and she has that look on her face, the one that very genuinely says _sorry you fell in love with a woman that died but you really should get over it, it’s been five years_.

He doesn’t want to see it. “Is it, though? I have no reason to distrust these letters and, well, think about it: Cornelia put out the news that Dimitri was executed for a crime we all know he didn’t commit. But the execution was done privately. No one saw a body. And then there were those rumours.”

Rumours of a terrifying man with blonde hair with a lance who viciously cut down scores of Imperial soldiers wherever he found them. A monster. Whispers that he was the ghost of the young prince, twisted by rage at the violent end of the Blaiddyd royal line, his spirit unable to rest. In truth, Claude didn’t put much stock in tales like that, especially not during wartime when so much blood was being shed. Perhaps he should have – perhaps this had been no ghost.

“It was strange,” Hilda admits. Everyone had expected a public execution, and that Dimitri’s head would be displayed outside the former royal palace – a reminder to anyone not go against the Empire, no matter who they are. Letting everyone know that the Empire’s power is impossible to fight against. That his body was never seen _had_ been suspicious but… no one had sighted Dimitri since, for years, save for rumours from terrified farmers who hardly knew what they’d seen in their horror. Until now. “But the Professor,” Hilda went on. “Are you _sure_, Claude?” 

“That’s what my scout in south west says, and he’s always been reliable. And sensible. No imagination. He’s in no doubt about Dimitri. And then he mentions a woman at his side with green hair, green eyes and a glowing sword? Hilda, it’s her. There’s been more activity at the monastery and surrounding towns. He’ll keep me abreast of the situation but Hilda – if it’s true, it’s _her_.” He wishes the scout could have reported in person so Claude could have asked some questions, but these had been his orders. His fingers tap on the desk as he considers recalling them to Derdriu – except that would leave someone else down there that he views as less reliable.

Hilda still looks unconvinced, and a frown tugs at her face. “I’m not sure I can believe it until I see her myself.” She picks up her cup again, looking at him shrewdly over the rim. “So. What are _you_ going to do about it?”

He glances down at the coded letter. In truth, he wants to take his wyvern and fly to Garreg Mach again, immediately. But that’s out of the question. He might have been able to get away with that before, but his absence had been noted and it would be suspicious to leave again. He’s watched too closely, and these rumours of the return of Dimitri will also have reached his enemies. If they get wind that Claude’s gone running to see the Faerghus heir as soon as it’s revealed he’s still alive, then _that_ would definitely tip the scales over. The Empire would view that as a threat, a breaking of the Alliance’s thin veneer of neutrality, and their full strength might turn on him. 

Any acknowledgement of this, at the moment, might make things very ugly for the Alliance.

And there’s still the chance that none of it is true, of course. It makes him hesitant to even send a message.

Too many people have already died. Claude doesn’t want more bloodshed just because he got impatient and went running after a woman. No matter who the woman is or how he feels about her. 

“We need more information,” he finally says to Hilda. He has no doubt he’ll get it soon – he trusts his scouts to keep him updated, and if this news is true, it’ll be all over Fódlan in no time. The Empire will have to respond. All Claude can do is have his own people watch and give him updates – for now.

But he hates having to wait. He hates that all he can do is sit here and either charm or intimidate his way through Roundtables that grow increasingly hostile and know that, despite his efforts and measures put in place, his forces are too few and stretched too thin if the Empire turns their eyes on them. Especially with more and more nobles wavering to the Empire, either out of fear or hoping for personal gain. He has his Almyran connections, but as things stand, Claude knows that would get him ousted immediately. It’s still not the right time for that, as frustrating as it is. 

But, if this _is_ true, Claude is sure it’s going to mark the start of a turning point in the war. He has to be prepared.

Hilda is also lost in thought. Claude knows she must also grasp what this could mean on a larger scale. “I hope, my dear Claude,” she finally says, sincerity ringing in her voice, “that it’s true. For your sake.” 

He smiles, small but genuine. “Thanks, Hilda. You’re a good friend.”

“I am the _best_ friend, and don’t you forget it.” 

He takes a deep drink of his tea, still contemplative. He should read the other correspondence and respond to whatever disasters he’s been asked to deal with today, but his eyes keep falling to the letter from his scout. 

_A green haired woman, with green eyes, and a sword that glows red._

He doesn’t need the cipher, having already memorised the the most important part of the letter.

And he can’t help it. Against all sensibility, hope that had been almost snuffed out flares to life again. 

_You’ve kept me waiting, Teach._

.

Despite his exhaustion, Claude usually sleeps little.

He dreams less.

But that night he dreams of Byleth, standing on the bridge of Garreg Mach in the rain.

.

.

.

.

.

Byleth makes a promise to herself that she won’t have another moment of weakness like she did on the bridge, that first night back in the monastery. So she indulged in some self pity in the dead of night after having her entire world pulled out from under her. Understandable, perhaps. But no more. She can’t afford to be weak. 

She tries to remember how she used to be, before the monastery. The Ashen Demon. Suited for war, not teaching. 

.

Her father’s face floats up in her mind, that small quirk upwards of his lips that meant he was pleased. 

She pushes it away.

She still does not visit his grave.

.

The Knights of Seiros return quicker than Byleth expects, and it appears most of them were operating in the Kingdom. If Rhea still lives, it’s likely that she’s being held in Enbarr, but the Imperial capital is a dangerous place for a knight of the Church, even one under heavy cover. 

The Knights have lost many over the years, and the Kingdom’s rebellion has been in decline. 

To them, Dimitri’s return seems like a blessing from the goddess herself. 

Seteth is genuinely glad to see Byleth alive. Which is nice, she supposes, but his support of her means she is now officially recognised as leader of the Church in Rhea’s absence. 

It seems farcical to Byleth – Seteth knows she’s ignorant of a lot of the finer details of the Church, and is hardly a believer. She wants to ask why Seteth himself can’t lead but she holds her tongue, because she’s pragmatic enough not to turn down control of a considerable number of knights during a war. 

It’s decided that Garreg Mach will be their base of operations, and there is still much work to be done to make it habitable. It won’t take long before Edelgard hears that revitalised Church of Seiros is at the monastery again, supposedly in the company of the prince of Faerghus, and they need to secure their defences.

There is a discussion about contacting the Alliance again, and once more it’s sidelined, at least for the moment. Byleth chafes at that even if she understands why – if the Empire gets wind of them working with the Alliance, they may face greater retaliation. Instead Gilbert makes attempts to reach out to some of the Faerghus nobles that didn’t bend the knee to the Empire, mostly those in the eastern region. Byleth is hopeful they’ll get support – after all, both Sylvain and Felix are here, heirs to houses who kept fighting in eastern Faerghus.

It’s so busy that it leaves Byleth little time to dwell. And perhaps that is for the best.

Unfortunately, Dimitri remains unpredictable, and Byleth wonders how he’s going to be a leader to his people if he’s unable to see beyond his demons and need for revenge.

.

She finds it difficult to adjust to the sudden – to her – changes in everyone around her. Especially her students. _Especially_ Dimitri. 

She tries again to talk to him, not long after their lengthy meeting with Gilbert and Seteth. Once more, she says the wrong thing, an attempt to make him see that they need to do this before they can even think of marching on Enbarr. 

Dimitri always seems to be battle ready, and his grip on his lance is tight as he turns on her with a glare. “If you get in my way,” he sneers, “I will strike you down.”

The worst part of it is that Byleth doesn’t doubt his words. He’s with them, for now, because he knows he has no chance of getting near Edelgard without an army. But that’s it. 

She misses the Dimitri she’d known, troubled as he was. The polite boy with the corny sense of humour, who wanted to help people.

But this isn’t the Dimitri she’d known, and he isn’t the king that Gilbert is hoping will lead their people.

.

The monastery is still full of cats and dogs, but Byleth can’t find her big ginger friend among them. She hopes he’s still alive somewhere, and found someone else to keep him well fed. 

Even as the weeks slip by, she doesn’t stop looking for him. 

.

It’s abundantly clear Dimitri isn’t interested in talking to anyone. Not everyone even tries, and those that do quickly give up in the face of his hostility. 

It’s Felix, of all people, who seems to make the most effort. He speaks to Dimitri the same way he did five years ago, but now Dimitri bites back, instead of taking the comments gracefully. 

But more than once Byleth finds Felix skulking in the back of the cathedral, eyes narrowed in Dimitri’s direction.

He asks Byleth, in that acerbic way of his, to help Dimitri.

And Byleth tells him she’ll try, because what else can she say? 

But the truth is that she doesn’t know how to help. How can she help someone so haunted by the people he’s lost? She catches Dimitri speaking to them at times, equal parts rage and pleading, begging his father to know that he’ll avenge them, promising Glenn that he’ll take Edelgard’s head.

Promising them all that he’ll finally bring them peace.

She wants to reach out and take Dimitri’s hand in hers, and pull him away from the edge he’s standing on. The dead are gone, but the living are still here – living, breathing people that need him.

But she dare not reach out to touch him, so she only has her words – clumsy words that stick on her tongue as she makes futile attempts to get through to him that the people here, that are alive and care for him, are worried about him. It does nothing, and Byleth sometimes thinks she’s making everything worse by trying. 

.

While he’s often at the cathedral – or attacking training dummies with such zeal Byleth is sure he’s imagining them as Edelgard – Dimitri also disappears for long stretches of time, sometimes making Byleth fear he’s left on a one man mission to Enbarr. But the guards have been instructed to keep a close watch on if the prince leaves the monastery grounds. If they think the request strange, they don’t show it. Wherever he goes, he doesn’t leave the grounds, but he also doesn’t return to his old room.

Byleth isn’t sure where Dimitri is sleeping, and his personal hygiene appears to be non-existent. When Gilbert talks about needing to prepare Dimitri to be seen by others, Byleth despairs – both because she knows he’s right and also because she knows this isn’t what Dimitri needs right now. They’re pushing him to be their king when he’s so clearly unable to be that. He needs time and help that no one here is equipped to give him. 

.

_I’m sorry_, she wants to tell him. _I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. _

She doesn’t. An apology won’t bring back Dedue, and it won’t kill Edelgard, and she knows her words would be met with a sneer.

.

The atmosphere in the monastery is tense, even while Sylvain still puts on his careless front and Annette still tries to smile. But Byleth does get a sense of relief from them all, that at first she thinks might just be because they’re finally doing something that could swing the war in their favour.

She hopes it’s not just because she’s retuned to them. She cannot be the hope of everyone.

But as she sees how they look to her, expecting her to do what to do, she realises she’s become bigger than just herself. They expect her to fix Dimitri, to somehow stick back together what is broken in him. Even Gilbert and Seteth look towards her in all things, including managing the prince.

But that’s not why she tries. She does it because she cares about Dimitri. So Byleth doesn’t stop trying to talk to him. She keeps trying even when his words are cruel and they bite into her. 

She tries to ignore her own pain to help his, and she fails at both.

.

“You’re wasting your time talking to me,” Dimitri says to her one evening, a few weeks after her return. He doesn’t even look at her, his gaze fixed somewhere far away. 

She resists the urge to sigh. They’ve done this dance before. “I don’t think I am, Dimitri.”

He scoffs, and then finally turns to her, anger blazing in his eye. “Would you rather be here, talking to me? Or would you rather be with Claude? Don’t think I don’t know, _Professor_.” He spits out her title with disgust. 

Byleth freezes. The mere mention of Claude is enough to bring up a host of feelings she’s trying to keep at bay. She’d never expected Dimitri to mention him – he hasn’t before – and certainly not like this.

Dimitri advances towards her, obviously noticing her reaction, only stopping when he’s towering over her. “Pathetic,” he sneers. “To think they once called you the Ashen Demon, to be so taken in by a liar like Claude.”

Getting over her surprise, Byleth hardens herself. “I don’t see what Claude has to do with anything. I”m _here_, aren’t I?” 

“For how long, I wonder?” He’s glaring down at her, and Byleth bristles. Dimitri continues after a pause. “Answer the question. When can I expect your betrayal?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she snaps. “I’ve given you no reason to doubt my loyalty.”

“You left before,” he snarls, but his anger now seems empty. Resigned. She has no chance to reply before he brushes by her, knocking her to the side. 

Byleth watches him stride through the cathedral. “I didn’t leave by choice, Dimitri,” she calls after him, but he ignores her completely, disappearing out the doors and into the darkening evening.

It hurts her more than she expects to realise that Dimitri, after all they’ve been through, doesn’t trust her. 

.

She finds it difficult to sleep, because she fears she won’t wake up. 

.

To the surprise of no one, the Imperial army notices them. It’s inevitable – a sudden flurry of activity at the long abandoned Garreg Mach, along with the surrounding villages, raises suspicion. They can’t hide.

But they are prepared for this assault, and thankfully this time they aren’t facing the full weight of the Imperial army. This vanguard, Byleth believes, can be defeated. 

But she knows it won’t come easy, and it’s with grim determination that she prepares herself to lead her former students into battle once again.

.

Dimitri charges ahead recklessly. He’s a one man army, quicker than his size would suggest, a powerhouse of rage that seems able to withstand endless waves of enemies. But Byleth knows that he is just a man, as mortal as any of them. She tries to keep pace with him, watching his back as she makes futile attempts to get him to listen to her orders. 

She grabs his arm during a lull in fighting, forcing him to turn to her. It’s the first time she’s touched him, but she’s so angry at him for being so rash. “You won’t get your revenge on Edelgard if you get yourself killed.”

Dimitri shakes her hand off. His voice is a growl as he speaks to her like she’s stupid. “They all need to die. Every last one of them. She’ll have _nothing_ before I cut off her head.”

And then he turns away, back to his slaughter.

Byleth has to change some of her tactics, eventually telling Mercedes to keep particular attention on Dimitri, with Ingrid on her pegasus backing them up. She hates that she has to prioritise Dimitri’s life over the others, that someone might die because she’s having Mercedes focus on the prince. 

More of them need to learn faith magic, that much is clear, even if none of them would ever be as adept as Mercedes. 

She thinks of how she and Dimitri used to fight side by side. They’d worked so well together, quickly gaining an understanding of each other, seamlessly working as a team.

Now he feels more and more like a stranger.

.

Garreg Mach takes even more damage in the assault, but they somehow manage to push back the attackers and take their general in as a prisoner on Dimitri’s orders.

While Byleth is assessing the injuries and casualties, she sees Dimitri stalking after the soldiers who are hauling the Imperial general away. She hesitates for a moment, knowing she should stay where she is and continue helping. But she has a pressing feeling of unease and, thinking again of her promise to Felix to help, she starts in Dimitri’s direction. It doesn’t take her long to find the two soldiers she’d seen with the general making their way back to the main group.

“If you’re looking for his Highness, he’s in that building,” one says, indicating with a nod where to go.

She pauses. “Did he dismiss you?”

A troubled look crosses the soldiers face, one he quickly tries to cover up as he answers with nod. 

Byleth murmurs a thanks and speeds up as she approaches the building indicated. She pauses at the partially open door, taking in the scene before her.

The general is on his knees, his back to the door. His hands are tied and his head is bowed.

Dimitri stands before him, so intent on his prisoner he doesn’t even notice her.

“After all is said and done,” Dimitri is saying, with a cruel smirk on his lips, “we are both murderers. Both stained. Both monsters.”

“You’re wrong!” The general is injured, shifting in pain, but still defiant in the face of Dimitri’s words. 

“Am I?” Dimitri replies, voice dangerously quiet. “I can smell the rotting flesh upon your hands even now, General.”

“Enough!” He cries, still struggling against his bindings. “That’s enough!” 

Byleth, still unnoticed by the door, frowns. Her hope had been she’d been wrong to be suspicious and that Dimitri was just going to question the general. To try and find out information that would be useful to them. Not… this.

“I won’t kill you right away, my fellow monster. Unless you object to watching your friends die. One… by… one.”

_Dimitri_, she thinks. _Why are you doing this? What does this achieve? _

Byleth can’t watch any longer. 

Dimitri, still staring down at his prisoner, seemingly enjoying his distress, keeps talking. “If so, I will do you the service of removing your eyes first so that–“

She steps forward, silently unsheathing her sword before bringing it down on the general. He slumps forward and hits the ground with a sound of pain.

In his dying moments he asks someone for forgiveness. His death comes quickly.

Dimitri’s hands shake, watching the man bleed out on the ground. His voice is a dangerous hiss, and his eyes slowly raise to Byleth’s. He’s furious. “What is the meaning of this?” 

Byleth stares defiantly at him, anger winning out over her sadness. “I miss the Dimitri I once knew,” she says bitingly.

But he just glares at her, stepping over the body, crowding her. When he does this, Byleth thinks he’s trying to intimidate her with his size. He should know by now it won’t work. “The Dimitri you knew is dead,” he snarls. “All that remains is the repulsive, blood-stained monster you see before you.” He takes another step forward forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “If you do not approve of what I have become, then kill me.” He spreads his arms out almost mockingly, lance falling with a loud crash to the ground. “If you insist that you cannot… then I will continue to use you and your friends until the flesh falls from your bones.”

She narrows her eyes, resisting the urge to slap some sense into him by way of a well aimed punch. She wonders what her father would do if one of his mercenaries had acted like this. “They’re your friends too, Dimitri.”

He scoffs. “Are they? I think not.” He still holds his arms out. “So what is it to be, Professor? If you cannot bear my monstrous actions, then strike me down.”

Byleth finds she can’t hold his gaze, and she lowers her eyes as she sheaths her sword, anger disappearing in a flash. _This isn’t helping_. She doesn’t see the look on Dimitri’s face, but she hears his _hmph_ of disgust. 

“Weak,” he snaps, before retrieving his lance and stepping around her, leaving her alone with the rapidly cooling body of the Imperial general.

.

Winning one skirmish against the Empire doesn’t make Garreg Mach safe. And having circular debates about whether to retake Fhirdiad or march on Enbarr is pointless. If they can’t defend themselves, they can’t win anything. 

Thankfully, Gilbert’s efforts to reach out to other Faerghus lords means salvation arrives in the form of Rodrigue of House Fraldarius – Felix’s father – although it means having to rendezvous with him at Ailell, the Valley of Torment.

_Quite a name_, Byleth thinks. But if it allows them to get the troops they need without their enemies finding out, then she won’t complain.

.

Ailell is a horrible place, and Byleth is soon sweating under her armour. She’s not the only one. When Gilbert tells her the legend about the place – that the Valley of Torment was created by the goddess, born of her rage, evidence of her judgement against humanities corruption – she finds it hard to reconcile with the Sothis that she’d known. 

But then, the Sothis that Byleth knew had hardly known herself. 

She’s not even surprised when they’re ambushed. They continue to be on the backfoot against the Empire, and perhaps they had been too trusting with the small amount of soliders they had at the monastery. 

Gilbert must be right – there’s a spy among them.

Ailell is terrible, and fighting there is even worse. Parts of the ground are too hot to walk on, and the horses are skittish. Even the pegasus are nervous to fly above the bubbling red pools.

Byleth brushes sweat out of her eyes, running a sharp gaze over her miserable companions. Dorothea is beside her, managing by some miracle to look slightly less affected by the heat than the others, but when she meets Byleth’s gaze, her expression is resigned.

“More fighting.”

Dorothea should be on a stage, adored by everyone. She should walk off that stage into the arms of someone she loved and who loved her dearly in return. She shouldn’t be here, with sweat making her hair stick to her skin, eyes bright with fear, fighting in a war against her own country.

But she is here, and they are at war, and wishes and wants and should bes have no place on a battlefield.

.

Dorothea dies at Ailell. 

An arrow takes her through the throat, just as her hands lift to cast a spell. Beside her, Ashe cries out, dropping his bow to try and catch her as she falls.

If this had been an opera, she would have fallen gracefully, and been caught in Ashe’s arms. She’d have died after placing her hand on his cheek, looking beautiful the entire time. Her hand would fall dramatically. The audience would weep. 

But this is war. And war is ugly. Dorothea crumples to the ground in a heap, Ashe unable to catch her. She sees his hands flutter about her throat and the desperate look on his face as he glances around for help.

Byleth is too far away to hear the awful, gurgling noise she knows Dorothea is making as she dies, choking on her own blood. Because this isn’t an opera and death on the battlefield is never beautiful or peaceful.

She pulls back time so that Ashe won’t have to hear it either, and so that Dorothea might still have a chance to be loved.

.

This time she proceeds slower, keeping her mages out of reach of the archers. Except that means that Dimitri puts distance between them. The heat is even affecting him, his movements not quite as fast. At least it bothers their enemies just as much. 

They fall under Dimitri’s rage.

.

Sylvain dies.

This time, Byleth does not see it happen.

Instead, to her left, she hears a guttural sound of pain and she turns to see it’s coming from Felix, of all people. His face is twisted in the most heartbreaking expression and he’s already moving by the time Byleth has processed what’s just happened. 

It’s Sylvain, isolated from the rest of them. He’s been knocked off his horse and overwhelmed. Byleth sees his unmoving body on the ground, a bloody axe raising from his mangled neck. There’s Felix, charging towards them and still making a terrible, anguished sound that Byleth is sure he’s not even aware of himself.

And that same axe dripping with Sylvain’s blood swinging towards him.

.

She pulls back time, but it takes her a little longer to recover from using it, and she’s suddenly cold and shivering despite the blistering heat. Felix’s cry of grief rings in her head.

“What’s wrong with you?” The sound of Felix’s voice beside her, harsh and impatient, is a relief. She focuses on that. This Felix has not seen his closest friend fall. This Felix _won’t _see Sylvain fall.

Looking beyond him, Byleth indicates with her sword and says urgently, “Sylvain.” 

Felix’s head whips around and he nods, understanding, immediately taking off to provide backup. She keeps an eye on them, but both of them are fine. Felix berates Sylvain for being careless, until Sylvain places a hand on Felix’s shoulder, expression fond. It makes Byleth look away.

Both of them are alive. Dorothea is alive. Byleth pulls herself together to continue the fight to ensure they stay that way.

.

The battle is almost won when Rodrigue of House Fraldarius arrives with some reinforcements, but he’s still a relief to see. She knows little of the man beyond that he’s Felix’s father and was close with both the former king of Faerghus and Dimitri. 

She’s hoping Dimitri will actually listen to Rodrigue. But she’s to be disappointed on that. Dimitri is grateful that Rodrigue has returned Areadbhar, his family’s relic, to him. But that’s about as far as it goes. He won’t listen to Rodrigue’s suggestion to retake Fhirdiad before pushing on Enbarr. 

So blinded by his revenge, Dimitri refuses to go and liberate his people. It doesn’t sit well with Byleth. This decision will prolong the suffering of so many. 

When Rodrigue tells Byleth he won’t push the issue with Dimitri, her hands ball into fists, hidden in the pockets of her cloak, nails biting into the skin. 

“Professor… I entrust the young prince, and the future of Faerghus, to you.”

_No pressure_, Byleth thinks, a tinge of bitterness in her thoughts. It’s not that she doesn’t want to do it, she just wishes people would _help_ her. 

_I can’t do this on my own._

.

Byleth’s irritation with Rodrigue aside, the arrival of his troops puts them in a more stable position. And as they’re going forward with the plan to march on Enbarr, they’re finally going to contact the Alliance to request assistance.

She feels Dimitri’s gaze on her when Claude is mentioned, but Byleth is good at keeping her face blank. Thankfully he says nothing except for expressing annoyance that they have to wait at all for the Alliance to reply. But even that is muted, because he knows as well as the rest of them that they can’t just march their army through Alliance territory without negotiating it first.

They’ve had no official communication from the Alliance since they’ve set up at Garreg Mach. It makes sense, considering the neutral stance Claude has taken during the war. But Byleth can’t help but wonder if he’s heard she’s still alive, and how he feels about it. He _must_ have heard.

Maybe he doesn’t care. She’s been gone five years. Maybe he’s angry with her. Maybe–

Maybe she’s going to drive herself mad thinking about it.

For a moment, Byleth toys with the idea of sending a personal letter along with the official correspondence. But she soon dismisses it. Firstly, the risk of someone else seeing it is too great. Even asking to do it would raise questions. And anyway, how can she do that to him? For Claude, it’s been over five years since he’s seen her, and he surely thought her dead. He’s focused on trying to hold together the Alliance. She doesn’t flatter herself to think anything from her would be welcome. He has to know by now she’s still alive and he’s made no move to contact her but then… neither has she.

She wonders how much he’s changed in the last five years. As much as Dimitri?

_No_, she thinks. None of them have changed as much as Dimitri.

Anyway, even if she did write, what could she say? 

_How have you been?_

_I’m sorry I disappeared._

_I’m sure you’ve forgotten about me but I can’t stop thinking about that time we kissed five years ago, except for me it was only two months. By the way, we need to march our troops through your territory, please write back._

Byleth can hear Dimitri’s voice in her head. _Pathetic_. 

War is no place for love or distractions.

But then she thinks of Felix, when Sylvain died. And she finds herself watching the two of them more closely. Sylvain, usually as stingy with his real smiles as Claude, bestows them on Felix quite often. And Felix’s eyes seek out Sylvain constantly, and to Byleth his biting words to Sylvain begin to sound more like a form of extended foreplay than anything else. Felix’s way of showing he cares may be unconventional, but there’s no doubt that he cares, so very much. So much he doesn’t know how to deal with it. They orbit around each other, at a close but still safe distance. Byleth wonders which one of them will be the first to cross it. She hopes one of them does. They deserve happiness.

She’s not sure how she’s missed it. Maybe… maybe, in the face of war, love is exactly what they need, even if she doesn’t expect to have it herself. 

.

The message is sent with their fastest pegasus rider, and they all wait impatiently for a response.

Meanwhile, Byleth works late and sleeps little. She reviews the battle at Ailell extensively. Her tactics had been wrong. She’d made mistakes. It’s the only reason why she had to use the Divine Pulse twice in one fight when she’s managed to not have to rely on it like that before. She has to be better. 

She trains with all her former students, and none of them mention that she’s tougher on them than she used to be, even though they’ve all surely noticed. This is no longer a school, after all.

And if she works herself to exhaustion and doesn’t dream, all the better. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that, and her dreams are chaotic and bloody. All at once she’s back at Ailell, but Dorothea is on a stage, singing in the midst of the burning heat. When the arrow impales her throat, Ashe does catch her, in a beautiful moment that makes the audience gasp, but her blood spills across the stage and then the audience is silent, awed as they listen to her choking, until suddenly they aren’t, and they’re cheering and throwing roses on the stage while Dorothea dies.

There’s more, Byleth knows, when she wakes up, that she can’t really remember, and that is probably for the best. There’s just flashes of violence and of death, and of Dimitri streaked with blood, cold and cruel. 

.

For once, she finds Dimitri in the training grounds rather than the cathedral, taking out his aggression on a training dummy like it’s personally wronged him. It’s no surprise to find Felix also there, but he’s some distance away from Dimitri, and he pauses when he sees Byleth enter. 

When he realises she’s here to talk to Dimitri rather than train, Felix scoffs. “Here to waste your breath again, I see.”

Byleth stops and turns towards him, narrowing her eyes. Her voice is cool. “Was it not you who asked me to talk to him?”

Felix turns his head away, muttering, “For all the good it’s done.”

She steps towards him, annoyed. “And what have you done to help?” 

His eyes flicker to Dimitri’s back, who is ignoring them both, far too intent on destroying a training dummy. “He’s beyond help. And he’s to be our _king_.” He spits the last word out in disgust and turns away, back to his own training dummy. 

There’s any number of things Byleth would like to say to Felix in response. She rather likes Felix. His complete lack of tact is refreshing, and reminds her of some of her father’s mercenaries. He’s a good training partner and they usually get on quite well. Felix is probably too honest in a lot of ways. He’s also sometimes as much of an idiot as he often accuses Sylvain of being. 

But Byleth doesn’t want to continue this pointless argument with him, especially not when the topic of it is standing in the room, probably listening even if he’s not saying anything. 

So she turns away from Felix to approach Dimitri, stopping at a safe distance from the dangerous swings he’s making with his training lance.

“Can we talk?”

Dimitri stops, to her surprise, turning to face her and resting his weight on the lance and wiping sweat slicked hair off his face with the other. His expression is annoyed, but she’ll take the small victories. 

“Well?” 

He sounds impatient and Byleth already knows this is going to be a pointless conversation. Maybe that’s why she stopped arguing with Felix. Because she knows he’s right about the fact that she’s wasting her breath.

She raises her chin at Dimitri. “We should liberate Fhirdiad before we take Enbarr.” 

He scowls. “We have had this discussion–“

“And you ignored what Rodrigue said. There are people starving in the streets, the people _you’re_ supposed to be protecting–“

“All that matters is making sure that woman dies.” Dimitri’s voice has that low, dangerous quality to it that Byleth knows means his already short patience is reaching it’s limit. “That is how we repay the dead.” 

“And what about the living who are still suffering?” She asks sharply. 

“We will end their suffering when I have taken that woman’s head. Why must you make me repeat this to you so often, Professor? Or do you not want us to contact the Alliance? I would have thought you’d be jumping at the chance to contact Claude.”

Up until now, the steady sound of Felix’s blows against the training dummy had been in the background. The sounds cease, with Felix obviously giving up any pretence that he isn’t listening to them.

Byleth folds her arms. Calmly, she says, “And like I keep telling you, I think liberating Fhirdiard is the best course of action – both in terms of strategy and humanity. Claude has nothing to do with it. I still think we should approach the Alliance, I just don’t think we should move on the Bridge of Myrddin yet.”

“You are wrong. We will use the Alliance but they cannot be trusted. What if you have to face Claude across a battlefield? Will you strike him down like any other enemy?”

Byleth knows the answer to that, just as Dimitri does, but she can’t say the truth out loud. “There’s no reason why we should end up fighting the Alliance.”

His eye roams over her face, his contempt clear. 

“Are you jealous, boar?” Felix drawls the question out from the other side of the training grounds. 

Dimitri’s gaze hardens as he looks over her head towards Felix. Byleth wants to sigh. She’s so tired of this. 

Unfortunately, Felix keeps talking. “Do thoughts of the Professor and Claude bother you?”

“Stay out of this, Felix,” Dimitri rumbles. 

“No. Not when I have to listen to this nonsense when I’m trying to train.” He glares at Dimitri. “I’d rather listen to you prattle on to the dead than this.” 

Dimitri freezes and for one terrible second Byleth thinks he’s going to lash out at Felix. But then his gaze, cold as ice, lands on Byleth again. “Once we hear back from House Riegan, we march on the Bridge of Myrddin. Then we take Enbarr, and that woman dies. I will not be questioned again.” 

He doesn’t storm out, despite the fact that he’s so obviously angry. Instead, he crosses the grounds to neatly stack his training lance with the others. By the storage cupboards is a loose sword, which he also picks up and puts away.

It’s so neat and reminiscent of the person he’d been five years ago that it makes Byleth want to both laugh and sob, 

His weapons put away, Dimitri takes his steel lance in hand and leaves, far quieter than his rolling rage would expect. 

Felix stares at her. “As I told you, wasting your breath.”

“Is provoking him your way of helping?”

He rolls his eyes. “He was always jealous of the time you spent with Claude.”

Byleth frowns. “He… was?”

Felix turns his head away, making an impatient noise. “Professor, I’m not going to talk to you about boys. Find someone else for that. But for what it’s worth, I agree with you regarding Fhirdiad. Unfortunately, we are bound to the whims of that beast.” He raises his sword at her, obviously done with talking. “Are we going to spar or not?”

And this is why she likes Felix. Sparring sounds very appealing. Much better than talking, especially about things she cannot change. Byleth knows Felix won’t go easy on her – she’s sure he doesn’t know _how_ to go easy – and not having to think about anything else but sparring, even for a short period of time, is a blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, wee usage of in game dialogue. Hey Dimitri, that's some fucked up shit you're saying, what's with that?
> 
> I had hoped to get this chapter out far sooner, but all these post time skip chapters are proving very difficult to write. Also, when writing that bit with Sylvain dying I was hit with a lot of Sylvix feelings and had to write [over 7,000 words in the form of this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21043478) to get them out, which also delayed me a bit. I love Felix. 
> 
> Next up: Battle at Myrddin Bridge aaaaaaand Gronder Field. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3


	7. Chapter 7

Claude stares up at the stars, leaning onto the edge of a secluded balcony in his estate in Derdriu. It’s one of those clear, cold nights with a chilly wind blowing in from the sea – nights that used to make him shiver. But he’s used to the cold, now. 

The moon is full, reflecting on the dark water. Even the sounds of the city are muted, and Claude is thankful for it. He needs this solitude and quiet to think.

In his hands he holds a letter.

Receiving a message bearing the seals of both House Blaiddyd and the Church of Seiros had not been a surprise. He’d expected it to come sooner, really. In the weeks since he’d first heard about Dimitri and Byleth’s reappearance, Claude has had enough updates to know that the seemingly unbelievable news is true. And he’d made sure to know as much as he possibly could without seeing for himself.

He knows the Empire had sent a vanguard to destroy them at Garreg Mach, but were repelled. He knows that, after that battle, they’d gone to Ailell and bolstered their strength with support from Duke Fraldarius – a man who has not stopped fighting the Empire for the last five years, and someone who Claude admires, even if they’ve never met. Years ago, he’d briefly considered if there had been a possibility of working with Fraldarius and the other nobles in eastern Faerghus opposed to the Empire, but it had been a fanciful idea he’d quickly abandoned. Neutrality is what has kept the Alliance somewhat stable, until now.

Claude looks down at the letter again. Even on this clear night with a bright moon, he can’t quite make out the words in the darkness. But he doesn’t need to; he knows what it says and he knows he needs to reply soon. The messenger who’d arrived not so long ago with the letter is currently enjoying a hearty meal courtesy of House Riegan, as is her steed, but Claude knows she’ll fly back on her pegasus with all haste as soon as she has his reply.

No, it had not been a surprise to receive a message from the newly energised Faerghus rebellion. It made sense for them to reach out. They are the enemies of the Empire – they don’t want to be at odds with the Alliance too. What Claude _is_ surprised about, is exactly what they’re asking for. 

Instead of turning towards Faerghus and retaking the capital of Fhirdiad, Dimitri is requesting permission to march through Alliance territory. They intend to rout the Empire forces at the Bridge of Myrddin and then press on into Empire territory from there, and end Edelgard’s tyranny.

There are many things Claude knows. He makes it a point to know, because knowledge is power, as they say.

But there are far too many things he does not know. He doesn’t know exactly how large their army is – although he can find that out if he lets them into Alliance territory. He only knows there is absolutely no hope that it’s large enough to go against the full weight of the Empire’s forces – both the Knights of Seiros and the forces of the Faerghus rebellion have been whittled down over the years, while Edelgard has only grown stronger. He doesn’t know why Dimitri is doing this rather than freeing his own people first – he has a better chance of taking back Fhirdiad. Then he can bolster his support before making a move on Enbarr.

He doesn’t know where Dimitri and Byleth have been for the past five years. He doesn’t know if they’re the same people they once were. And it bothers him more than he wants to admit. 

Claude dwells in it for an ugly moment, letting himself be angry. He’d trusted Byleth, and thought he was important to her. But she’s been with Dimitri and never bothered to let him know she was alive? And now, five years later when they need his help, he hears from her – her name signed at the bottom of a letter written by someone else? 

But Claude doesn’t dwell for long, firstly because he knows he doesn’t have the whole picture. And secondly… to be angry now, after five years of hoping for news like this…

No, he’ll continue to wait. At some point, he has to cross paths with Byleth. Hopefully then, he’ll get some answers. 

But there’s too much at stake for him to trust her like he might have before. And there are those rumours about Dimitri, which are troubling. Claude can only hope they’re exaggerated. 

He stares, unseeing, out over the sea.

He’ll give them their access through Alliance territory. If they can remove the Empire’s presence from Myrddin, it means the Alliance is no longer at risk of an unchallenged invasion at any moment. 

_If_ they can…

They’d be facing down both Empire and Gloucester forces – the latter of whom would engage them before they even reached the Bridge. 

But perhaps Claude can help with that, with a little distraction. 

He’s been itching to get out of Derdriu anyway.

.

.

.

It doesn’t take long for Garreg Mach to get a reply from House Riegan. They can march through Alliance territory, and Claude will use his own forces to distract House Gloucester’s soldiers so they can make it to the Bridge of Myrddin unmolested. It’s more than they had asked for, and even though she knows there are many who still have their silent misgivings about this course of action – including herself – Byleth can see some of the others taking it as a good sign. 

She rereads the letter alone, later that day, in the Cardinal’s room. It’s carefully worded but quite straightforward. It’s written in Claude’s hand and he mentions his relief to hear that both Dimitri and the Professor are still alive. It’s impersonal but… of course it is. 

Just like she’d sent no personal letter to Derdriu, she doesn’t receive one back. 

Byleth’s fingers trail across his signature at the bottom of the parchment, indulging in a moment of foolish sentimentality, for what might have been, her disappointments, for what she has lost.

She presses a finger to her lips, falling back into the memory of a dark night, a bridge, a kiss.

But only for a moment.

And then she puts the letter, the memories, and those feelings aside, and she locks them all back up. 

.

They move quickly, knowing Claude is doing the same. Although they’re tense – and Dimitri more than once remarks that he doesn’t trust Claude – they make it to the bridge without being attacked. It’s clear Claude has kept to his word and successfully distracted the Gloucester soldiers. It means their people will be fresh for what will be a difficult battle.

The night before they commence their attack, Byleth wanders through the camp to find Dimitri. He’s sitting alone at a fire, mechanically eating his rations as he glares at the flames. Without saying anything, Byleth sinks down gracefully beside him. 

She’s not surprised when he completely ignores her, but she asks lightly, “Dimitri, how are you feeling?”

He lowers his bowl and turns towards her slightly, looking at her with something like suspicion. “If you are here to question my ability to–“

Byleth raises her hand to get him to stop, resisting the urge to sigh. She wishes she could have just one conversation with him that doesn’t feel like a battle. “I’m not talking about that. We just… haven’t really spoken since before we left.” She’d thought about Felix’s words, about Dimitri being jealous of Claude and in truth, Byleth doesn’t really know what to make of it. She’d never neglected her own students to spend time with Claude. And it seems ridiculous, really, to bring it up now, when it’s been five years for Dimitri. He doesn’t trust Claude, but he doesn’t trust _anyone_. So she doesn’t mention it.

“Words are empty.” He looks back down at his bowl. “Even mine. The promises I make the dead are nothing if I don’t take that woman’s head.” 

“And after we kill Edelgard?”

He blinks and then looks at her again, narrowing his eye. “And then we hunt down every last one of her filthy beasts. Only then will the dead be avenged.” 

Abruptly he stands, but Byleth is quicker and she grabs his wrist, forcing him to look at her again. She knows he has the strength to shake her off if he so wishes it, but he doesn’t, instead glowering down at her.

“And what do you mean by that? Edelgard’s generals? Every single soldier? Every citizen of Adrestia?”

“All of them,” he hisses darkly. 

Byleth tightens her grip on him, using him to balance herself as she stands up to peer into his face. “This will destroy you, Dimitri.” 

“There’s nothing left of me to destroy.” It’s said so matter of factly that Byleth’s breath catches, and she wonders if Dimitri can see an _after_ at all, or if this is it; the need for revenge blocking out everything else. Even if they win this war, will there be anything left of Dimitri to become the king his country will need?

“That’s not true,” she responds bleakly.

For once he doesn’t respond impatiently or lash out in anger. There’s just an immovable sadness, like he feels bad that Byleth will have to accept what he already has. “Then I am sorry, for you will be disappointed.”

She lets her hand drop, and he walks away.

.

There is no sign of that quiet sadness the following morning, when they stand in the bright sun, ready to make their attack. 

Byleth is with Dimitri and Gilbert, observing the large number of Imperial soldiers stationed on the bridge. 

Dimitri is unconcerned with their numbers. “It matters not. I will kill them all, whether they are one or one hundred.”

Byleth exchanges a look with Gilbert, one they’ve shared countless times between them whenever Dimitri speaks like this. This time, it doesn’t escape Dimitri’s notice. He rounds on her, with that restless anger she’s grown too familiar with.

“What would you do, if you saw the people who stole everything from you? If you saw them right before your eyes, living carefree lives and living no guilt. Would you feel nothing? Do nothing?”

Byleth turns her head away from him slightly, unwilling to have this conversation with him again. She’s so very tired of it.

Dimitri continues. “Five years ago, did you not deem the woman who killed Jeralt to be unforgivable?”

Her jaw clenches, and she turns to him, narrowing her eyes. 

It’s not like she doesn’t understand his desire for revenge, but Dimitri is taking it too far. They aren’t facing Edelgard today. They’re facing soldiers probably fighting so they can claim a wage and feed their families, rather than because of an ideal or out of hatred. A lot of them are going to die today, but Dimitri can’t kill every person in the Empire.

And she doesn’t appreciate the mention of her father.

“I am most certain that you did,” he goes on when she doesn’t reply, ignoring her glare. “You couldn’t let her get away with her crime, so you took up your sword in pursuit.”

“Yes,” she replies evenly. “Her. Not every single person in the Empire.”

She’s spared Dimitri’s reply by Felix approaching them. He rolls a look at Byleth, even more dour than usual, before shifting his eyes away.

“You’re wasting your time,” he states. “There’s nothing to be gained from exchanging words with a boar that has lost its mind.” 

Byleth says nothing, weary of all this. And Felix, for all his talk, doesn’t take his own advice. Instead, he bickers with Dimitri, while she and Gilbert stand in silence, having heard it all before.

She’s thankful when Rodrigue arrives.

It’s time to attack.

.

But Felix’s words linger in her mind. 

“_If we keep running down this path, it’s only a matter of time before the ground beneath us collapses._”

And Byleth knows he’s right.

.

When Dedue appears on the bridge, alive against all the odds, there is a moment where everything is both muted and startlingly sharp. The sounds of battle seem to cease, the sun glints off Dedue’s armour, and high in the blue sky a flock of birds fly over them – and Byleth begins to understand why some people speak about her own return like it’s a miracle, because that’s what this feels like. At her side is Dimitri, for once, and she turns to him, hoping he knows that this is real and not one of his ghosts haunting him.

The expression of open shock on his face tells her that he knows. There’s a tremble running through him that for once isn’t from rage, but of something vastly different. He blinks, whispering brokenly, like he’s too scared to hope this is real, “Dedue?” 

For a beautiful, perfect moment, it’s like he’s stepped out of the shadows and into the sun.

But it’s only for a moment, because they’re still engaged in battle. So there’s no time to talk or celebrate, not with the Imperial soldiers pressing down on them, led by a fearsome general that they need to eliminate quickly. 

The general dies, as do so many of her soliders.

And so do two other familiar faces.

.

It’s Dimitri who kills Ferdinand. Dedue’s return has clearly not had an effect on his desire for revenge, and he seems unmoved by killing someone he used to share meals with. But then, Ferdinand is a high ranking member of Edelgard’s army, and one of her inner circle. To Dimitri, he’s an enemy who must be cut down, and that’s that.

Byleth is near enough to see Ferdinand fall, his long, orange hair matted with blood as he crashes off his horse and onto the hard stone of the bridge. Later, she’ll wonder if she should have done something, turned back time and tried to speak to Ferdinand before Dimitri got near him. Perhaps she could have gotten him to stand down.

But she doesn’t. So he dies. 

Instead, Byleth turns away to continue north, where Lorenz sits on his horse, tall and proud, flanked by his Gloucester soldiers. He’s ready to face her, that’s clear, but when she starts speaking to him, he holds up a hand to stay his forces. 

For a brief moment, Byleth hopes. If he’s willing to listen, he may be willing to yield and she won’t have to kill him. 

Lorenz listens, and then he smiles. A perfect noble smile, and like the smiles of so many these days, it doesn’t touch his eyes. It lets Byleth know before he even answers that he will do his duty. He will not defect. 

But she still has to try. She remembers their awkward dance together at the ball, and how Lorenz had still smiled and bowed gallantly afterwards. What kind of a person is he now, Byleth wonders. Will she get to know?

“I've no choice but to follow the Empire, if I wish to live.” Lorenz says it matter-of-factly. “I hope you will not think ill of me.”

Byleth shakes her head. “Join us, Lorenz. You don’t have to die.”

His smile twists into a grimace. “I do not think your king will agree. And my father… no, Professor. This is how it must be.”

_No it isn’t_, she thinks, but says no more because Lorenz is charging at her, lance drawn, ready to get the unpleasant business over with.

Byleth rewinds time and tries to convince him once more to join them. 

And fails.

She tries again, and fails harder.

_You cannot change fate_, Sothis had told her.

It is not Byleth’s fate to die on the Bridge of Myrddin, but it is Lorenz’s.

.

With their generals dead, the remaining soldiers of the Imperial and Gloucester surrender. 

For the Blue Lions, it’s a difficult success. Dedue has returned to them, but all of them are hit hard by Ferdinand and Lorenz’s deaths. Byleth watches Annette and Mercedes lead a distraught Dorothea away. Something heavy settles in her stomach that she suspects will never be dislodged. 

Byleth has no idea how many people she has killed. She’d been hardly more than a child herself when she’d first killed a man and watched the life drain from him, his blood coating her sword and her clothes. Perhaps it’s hypocritical of her to be so bothered by Lorenz’s death, and to feel guilty she didn’t save either him or Ferdinand.

But she does feel guilty. However, she decides not to go after Dorothea and the others, instead heading to where Dimitri is talking with Dedue at the other end of the bridge. She slows as she approaches them, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

Dimitri is speaking. “I ask that you swear something to me, here and now. Do not ever throw your life away again. Understood?”

Byleth doesn’t hear Dedue’s reply, but Dimitri’s words make the hard edges of the rock in her stomach crumble slightly, making it more smoother. Slightly easier to bear. Dedue will follow any order of Dimitri, Byleth knows, so she doesn’t expect him to change Dimitri’s mind on anything. But this – Dedue’s return – has hopefully chased away some of Dimitri’s demons, and given him even some tiny sliver of hope. His presence can only be a good thing for Dimitri.

“Professor.” Dedue nods to her as she approaches, still with a small smile on his own face from Dimitri’s words. “I am glad to see you alive.”

“The feeling is mutual, Dedue. I’m so happy to see you.” She’d forgotten how tall he is, towering even over Dimitri. Her eyes search over him, taking in the changes – and the new scars.

Dedue ducks his head slightly. “I will leave you to speak with His Highness. We will talk later, perhaps?”

She nods, and there’s a beat of silence as she and Dimitri watch him leave. But Dimitri’s gaze then trails over the bodies that are currently being bundled up, and his expression turns dark again. They have taken their own casualties, but the vast majority of the dead are Imperial soldiers, and a handful of Gloucester troops who fought with Lorenz. 

“Idiots. Embracing death for the sake of that woman. Truly foolish…”

Byleth slides a glance over at him, surprised by the tone in his voice that sounds almost like regret. 

“What troubles you, Dimitri?”

He frowns, and an almost vulnerable look crosses his face. “I… I don’t know.” 

Carefully, she asks, “Do you regret killing them?”

“No. They were beasts with human faces.” They’re words he’s said countless time before, but there’s far less heat in them as usual. Almost like he’s saying it out of habit rather than still believing it. “I had no choice but to kill them, and so I did. That… that is all there is to it.”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself and while Byleth isn’t happy to see him struggle, she hopes this might be the beginning of something – that Dedue’s return could start Dimitri walking down a path that will lead him out of his darkness. 

.

But, as always, things are never that simple, and Byleth should have known better to let hope flare in her chest.

.

.

.

Claude listens to his scout’s report intently. By his side is Judith and Holst, and he can see Judith’s frown out of the corner of his eye. 

Keeping his voice even, he asks, “And Prince Dimitri, is what they say true?” 

The messenger nods, wiping sweat from his brow. He looks as tired as Claude feels. “The Gloucester soldiers who surrendered said he was like a demonic beast in battle. Nothing could stop him. They were afraid he wouldn’t accept their surrender, but Duke Fraldarius and that woman, the acting Archbishop, guaranteed them their lives.”

Claude ignores the way his heart speeds up at each mention of Byleth. Every scrap of information he can get on her he goes over again and again in his mind, but in truth, there’s not much to go on. He hears far more about Dimitri. 

Ever the enigma, is his Teach. 

After a few more questions, he dismisses the messenger from his tent. He’s kept his army at the border of Goneril and Gloucester territory after his little skirmish with Gloucester forces, waiting to hear the outcome of the Kingdom’s attack on Myrddin.

He’d expected a letter from the Faerghus leaders, informing him of their success, and moving forward with plans to work together. Winning the bridge is a great advantage, but it still leaves the Kingdom’s army between Claude’s forces and the Empire’s. In truth, that was partially the reason Claude had been happy to let them march on Myrddin. In their position, turning on the Alliance would be suicide. He has to consider these possibilities. As much as he’d like to, he doesn’t trust any of their leaders. 

And sadly, that includes Byleth. Their paths have split, and it remains to be seen if they’ll ever walk together again.

But there has been no message, and that troubles him. 

Holst saunters around the war table to where a servant has set up some goblets and wine. He pours himself a generous helping and sips it, his expression more troubled than Claude has ever seen it. “Perhaps the prince is uncontrollable, and that’s why we’ve had no contact.”

Claude shakes his head. “No, even if Dimitri is that bad, the others aren’t. It makes no sense that they’ve sent nothing. Perhaps there’s foul play going on.”

Judith is frowning down at the map. “That’s always a possibility, but if they’re already moving south without a response, then they intend to face the Empire at Fort Merceus, despite being hopelessly outnumbered and regardless of what our reply might have been if they’d sent anything. A foolish plan.”

Claude steps up beside her, joining her in looking down at the map, trailing an expert eye across Alliance lands, quickly weighing up their options, few as they are. “We move south,” he says decisively. “Send a message to the Kingdom. We need to work together.” He pauses, scanning the map. “We can enter Empire territory from here,” indicating a pathway through eastern Alliance territory. 

Holst’s eyes travel over the map too, and he nods. “We should be able to meet up with them at Gronder Field. But we know the Empire has formidable numbers. It’s risky.”

Memories of the last time he’d been at Gronder Field flash like lightning in Claude’s mind. But he pushes those thoughts away as quick as he can – much like he did when the messenger told them about Lorenz’s death. He can’t think about that yet. He can’t even quite _believe_ that yet. Instead, he directs a lazy grin at Holst. “What isn’t risky, these days?”

Judith eyeballs him. “Don’t be flippant, boy, these are your people we’re risking.” 

“Right,” he responds with a shrug, deciding for once to be magnanimous and ignore that she’s called him boy, _again_. “And if we do nothing, the Empire will wipe out the Kingdom army through sheer numbers.” It doesn’t matter how many Dimitri or Byleths they have. The Empire’s army looks to be twice the size of the combined forces of the Kingdom and the Knights of Seiros. “But this way – if we fight together – we stand a chance. Otherwise, once they’ve finished off the Kingdom army, there’s nothing stopping the Empire from coming after us and destroying us too. We don’t have the numbers alone. And I don’t think we can pretend we’re neutral anymore, do you?”

“No,” she replies, frown deepening. “But if the prince can’t be reasoned with?”

“The others can.” Of that Claude is certain. Everything he’s heard about Dimitri is concerning, but if Byleth is still in any way the same person she’d been five years ago, he doesn’t need to trust her to know that _she’ll_ know her army can’t win this without help. And Duke Fraldarius must know the same. He leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “If you have any other suggestions, I’m all ears.” 

There are none, and they all know that. Oh, if they turned back to Derdriu and the Empire advanced on them, they can last under siege for a time. Close off the city. But the rest of the country would be defenceless, and they wouldn’t be able to hold off forever, not even if they maintain control of the ports and Claude got word to Almyra to send reinforcements. No, for better or worse, Claude has firmly pushed the Alliance from its neutral position to an enemy of the Empire. If they retreat now, they lose everything.

Claude isn’t opposed to retreat, if it serves a purpose. All it would do now is destroy everything and cost more lives. As it is, too many will die. 

But they still have to move forward.

.

.

.

There is no time to celebrate their success in taking the Bridge of Myrddin, not when their scouts report back that the Empire has immediately begun to gather troops south of them at Fort Merceus, in numbers that far exceed their own army – and allegedly the Emperor herself is going to be leading them.

That news, unconfirmed as it is, shatters any peace that Dimitri might have found in Dedue’s return, and sets off something dangerous in him. The knowledge that Edelgard might be almost within reach has him restless and unwilling to waste time, and they’re on the march again far sooner than Byleth would have liked. A nervous energy rolls over them all, the knowledge that this next battle could end it all one way or another resting heavily on everyone.

Their messenger to the Alliance disappears and they have no way of knowing if Claude received the news of their success and Myrddin, their plan to keep marching, and a request to ally together to face Edelgard’s army at Gronder Field. 

They send out another messenger, this time on horseback, fearful of losing more of their precious pegasus riders. 

Dimitri sees spies everywhere, and Byleth can understand his suspicions. The lack of a reply from the Alliance is concerning. 

But Byleth knows nothing is going to stop their march, especially not when they hear of a confirmed sighting of Edelgard at the head of her army. She sees Dimitri’s mouth twist into a mockery of a smile as he contemplates the moment he will strike her down – a moment he feels is almost upon him. 

And so they continue to be swept along in the tide of his vengeance.

They march to Gronder Field; taking the same path they took five years ago. 

But nothing else is the same.

.

The sky turns grey, and the air is frigid. It’s cold enough that Sylvain remarks that it reminds him of home – the chilly northern reaches of Faerghus. 

Byleth watches her breath turn into mist, rising up into the air until it becomes part of the fog that’s quickly rolling in as the sky darkens.

Dimitri stalks through the camp like a caged wolf. It’s only thanks to Dedue and Rodrigue that he doesn’t take off alone to kill Edelgard.

Byleth can’t stop to babysit him right now, now when the weather has changed so drastically. She has to prepare in case the fog holds out. If the visibility remains this poor, it means she’ll have to change tactics for the upcoming battle completely. It’s already proving to be a complicated one to strategise for. It’s possible the Alliance army will also turn up, but having heard nothing from Claude, they don’t know whether they’ll be friend or foe.

Byleth suspects it’ll be the former – the Alliance has no quarrel with them, and they’ve already worked together once. But she’s uneasy. More uneasy than she’s ever been about a battle before. 

She wonders if she’ll see Claude, an arrow aimed at her like it had been five years ago. Except this is no mock battle.

She does not sleep that night at all, but she’s glad for it.

No sleep means no nightmares.

.

.

.

“We’ll be fighting at Gronder again,” Lysithea states glumly.

“Looking that way,” Claude replies with far more cheer than he actually feels. 

Lysithea spares him a dour look over her meal. They’re sitting around a fire, having camped out for the night. Tomorrow they will reach Gronder, and even Claude can’t account for all the variables to predict the outcome. For one, they still haven’t heard anything from Dimitri or Byleth. His own messenge had gone unanswered, and Claude only knows their movements because he’s had his own scouts keeping a careful eye on them from a safe distance. 

And then there’s the weather. While the heavy fog puts everyone at a disadvantage, as an archer it’s particularly disabling for Claude. His wyvern won’t be able to see a foot in front of them at this rate. All he can do is hope it clears up by morning, but he’s already working out alternatives for if it doesn’t.

Either way, there’s no turning back. If they do, the Kingdom army will be decimated, and then the Alliance will be next.

“Do you really think Dimitri and the Professor will fight against us?” Ignatz has worried about this nonstop and Claude wishes he could reassure him. By all accounts, Dimitri has been unpredictable. He doesn’t want to believe either him or Byleth would attack them, but he can’t discount it. 

He hates that he can’t discount it.

“I hope not, but…” he meets Hilda’s eyes across the fire. “We have to be prepared for that.”

None more so than him. 

He can’t believe the first time he’s going to see Teach again in over five years is going to be across a battlefield. Claude can only hope Dimitri can see the sense in teaming up – it’s the only way they’ll be able to push back the Imperial army. 

Hilda’s eyes drop down to her bowl of stew, and she leans into Marianne, who casts a worried look at her. 

“They killed Lorenz. And Ferdinand,” Ignatz says quietly. 

_Lorenz_. 

All the Golden Deer are here. Except for Lorenz. Despite how damn annoying he could be, it’s an absence keenly felt by them all.

“Lorenz never should have sided with the Empire,” Lysithea says crossly, but Claude can see a tremble in her lips. 

“He sided with his father, not the Empire.” Marianne’s voice is very quiet. “He wasn’t against us, but…” 

Claude disagrees, because Lorenz’s actions amounted to the same thing, but he remains silent. 

He’s angry at Lorenz’s death. Furious really. But mostly at Lorenz himself, because his death was pointless. He should be here, with them, fussing over something stupid and disapproving of Claude. He should never have died for Edelgard’s cause. 

Had it bothered Teach to kill him? Had she changed much in the last five years? 

_Where have you been, Byleth?_

He wants to force a smile to his face, and say something reassuring. But there’s nothing. Not when Lorenz’s ghost looms over them and Claude knows he can’t discount his own role in his death. 

For once, he has no words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I'm so very sorry for the delay on this chapter. Life, work, illness, blah blah blah, you know how it is.
> 
> 2) This chapter was originally going to include the Battle of Gronder but it got to be almost 12,000 words long so it's been split up. The good news is that I should be posting the second part tomorrow evening (Europe time) – when I'll have a chance to do a final round of editing.
> 
> 3) I know Marianne doesn't appear post time-skip if you don't recruit her on a non GD playthrough, but to be perfectly honest: fuck that. It's my AU I do what I want.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. <3


	8. Chapter 8

The battle at Gronder Field starts with fire and smoke and chaos.

There is fog so heavy it almost feels like a physical presence pressing on their shoulders. To Claude’s complete annoyance, it’s heavy enough to ground the wyverns. But visibility is so poor, they’re more like to fly into each other than anything else. 

He doesn’t like this fog at all; it’s so oppressive that he’s wondering if there’s something magical about it. None of them have ever seen anything like it before. 

He stands at the head of his army, in the south east of Gronder Field. The same place he and the Golden Deer had been in five years ago. But the high spirits of that occasion are nowhere to be found now.

Claude is waiting for his scouts to return, unwilling to send the bulk of army ahead into the unknown. The mood is tense.

And then fire rains down upon them.

The fireballs land some distance to Claude’s left; taking out a small number of his troops; their screams piercing the stillness. Immediately the healers rush forward, but the stench of burned flesh still reaches him. Claude glares up into the grey mist fruitlessly, hoping he’ll be able to spot if more are on the way, knowing he won’t until it’s too late.

_Damn this fog._

Judith stands by his side, also looking upwards. They’d left Holst behind to keep the peace but Judith had insisted on coming south and Claude wasn’t going to turn down the assistance of the Hero of Daphnel.

She glances at him. “Imperial?”

He nods. “I expect so. They have far more mages, from what we know. And I feel like Edelgard is more likely to go with the scorched earth tactic over Dimitri.”

“If you say so.” 

They both fall silent as they hear shouts in the distance, the rumble of horses over hard ground, the clash of weapons. The sounds of war. 

There’s a rustle of movement as soldiers prepare themselves.

Claude raises his voice. “Remember, we have no reason to attack the Kingdom unprovoked. For now, we wait.” 

Leonie is somewhere in front of him with her small battalion, scouting ahead. As he waits for her to Claude can only hope that the Kingdom army won’t attack _them_. 

And that more hellfire won’t hit them.

.

Between the flames and the fog, it doesn’t take long before Byleth loses track of Dimitri once the battle starts. There had been a dangerous energy in him since the rumour reached them that Edelgard might be leading her army personally. It had undone the sliver of calm that Dedue’s return brought and destroyed any hope Byleth had that he might be turning a corner.

When they got confirmation that Edelgard was indeed at the head of the Imperial army, a wicked smile had crossed his face and she knew he would do whatever it took to get to her. Byleth had spoken to Dedue about her concerns and he shared her worry. But all he could do was promise that he’d stay by Dimitri’s side and protect him. 

Byleth at least knew that promise would be taken seriously.

.

But she has not accounted for this – the fire bearing down on them that must be from the Imperial army mages. Because it has to be Edelgard and not Claude. Dimitri had urged them forward and it wasn’t long before they were clashing with Imperial cavalry.

Dimitri tears through them with Areadbhar like a man possessed, and for a few seconds after he’s disappeared into the fog Byleth can still see the glow of the spear. But then that too is gone, as is Dedue, and she knows that Dimitri will hunt through that fog until he finds Edelgard and anything in his way will be cut down. 

And she can’t follow him, not when she’s desperately fighting herself in this middle of dense grey blanket that blots out everything. Byleth can’t help Dimitri here.

All her careful planning and strategising is for nothing. It’s next to impossible to tell what banner people are fighting under until she’s practically on top of them. She calls for her own battalion, but wherever they are, they can’t hear her, not over the thundering roar of hooves, and the snarling clashes of weapons against armour, the strangled cries of someone being suddenly cut off by death. Horses bellow in fear and pain as they’re struck down. This is pure chaos, made up of smoke and fire and blood. Of death and horror. 

But Byleth is the Ashen Demon, and the Sword of the Creator is lethal in her hands. She has no time to stop and think about how awful this is. She’ll just be grateful to survive it.

Not far from her, in the direction of what should be the central hill they’d taken during the last battle here, she hears the roaring rush of fire. She’s not close enough to feel the heat, but she can hear the screams; another note to add this awful symphony.

But it does not slow her down. Her sword cuts through the fog, and comes back to her dripping with blood.

.

When Claude hears a galloping horse approach, he tenses, hand on his weapon, until he hears the whistle that lets them know it’s one of their own. Leonie appears, followed by far less of her troops than she’d left with.

“What happened?” He asks lowly, Hilda and Lysithea also stepping closer to him and Judith to listen.

“Dimitri,” she gasps. “Cut through us. Dedue is with him, and his soldiers. They’re attacking us, Claude.” 

A shout behind them backs up Leonie’s words as several of her troops turn to face oncoming Kingdom soldiers. There’s not that many of them, and Dimitri isn’t among them. They’d been chasing Leonie and hadn’t expected to find the bulk of the Alliance army. 

They fall quickly, easily taken out by Leonie’s battalion and Lysithea’s magic. 

“Leonie,” Claude pulls her aside and asks urgently. “Did you see the Professor?”

She shakes her head and Claude is both disappointed and relieved, and then says. “Claude, Dimitri was… he looked out of control. I don’t think he even recognised me.” Claude can see she’s shaken more than she’s letting on by the experience. “There’s no way we can parley with him.”

He nods, gritting his teeth. Apparently the gossip he’s heard about Dimitri is true and the prince is… well, not the person Claude knew five years ago. Anyone facing Dimitri will have to try and kill him before he kills them, and that would be a hard won battle, especially if Dedue is with him.

“But he didn’t follow you?”

She shakes her head. “No, he seemed intent on going in the opposite direction.” 

Claude considers this. Dimitri is likely more interested in Edelgard. That’s fine with him. Let Dimitri kill her and end this madness – Claude wouldn’t complain if that happened. 

They can stay out of Dimitri’s way. Unfortunately he can’t say the same for the rest of his army.

“Alright!” He turns and raises his voice, preparing to address his own troops. This isn’t what he wants – he’s hoped for anything but this to happen – but he’s not going to let his people die. If the Empire are distracted with the Kingdom, he’ll use that to his advantage and weaken the Empire army himself. They’re the bigger threat here. 

It’s time for them to move.

.

Byleth does what she can to keep a regain a semblance of order, and she lets herself feel a flicker of pride in her former students – those that she sees here and there through the shifting fog – who command their own battalions and keep to their lines. But along with Dimitri and Dedue, she has no idea where Sylvain is, or Ingrid, or Mercedes. She sees Felix and Annette, who tells her she’s seen Dorothea. Ashe is not far behind Byleth, forced to use a sword rather than his preferred bow.

There is no training that can prepare them for this, though. Not this bloody chaos, choking on fog and smoke, stumbling across bodies and hardly able to tell friend from foe. 

Byleth is heading in the direction she hopes to find the Alliance army in, where the Golden Deer had been during the child’s play that had been the battle of five years ago. If they can join forces and coordinate against the Empire together…

An enemy knight materialises out of the fog in front of her, and Byleth only sidesteps just in time. She turns instinctually, honed through years of battle, and lashes out with her sword. As he falls she realises this solider isn’t wearing Imperial armour. 

He’s Alliance. 

“Felix!” She calls, hoping he’s still nearby. 

He appears beside her a moment later.

“The Alliance are attacking us, we can’t hold back against them. Spread the word as you go.” 

He cuts her with a look, but nods, before spinning to the side to strike out at an attacker, felling them easily. Another Alliance solider. “This damned fog.”

“I know. Have you seen Sylvain?”

Felix’s lips thin. “No.” 

“Head south. Try find Dimitri. Keep him alive.” This would all be for nothing if Faerghus lost their prince. 

Felix’s lips thin further, a sour expression on his face. But he does as she says, dematerialising into the fog after only a few steps. The fact that he goes without a comment is testament to how serious the situation is.

Byleth presses on, every sense strained. She’d told Felix to not hold back against the Alliance only so that they would stay alive, but she still thinks it’s madness to be fighting them.

There has to be a way to stop this.

When the brawler comes barreling at her, she barely moves in time, once again striking out, finding her target. 

She’s already moving on when she hears the voice, strained with pain.

“Always knew you’d be a tough opponent, Professor.”

Byleth whirls around, taking careful steps back to the fallen brawler. “Raphael.”

“Yep.” He coughs. Byleth looks him over. Her sword had taken him through the stomach, in a gruesome wound she knows is both incredibly painful and fatal. Raphael’s eyes are pinched, his lips downturned in an expression she’s never seen on his face before. Raphael was always smiling. “If you see Claude, can you ask him to look after my sister? She doesn’t have anyone, now. And she…” He stops, trembling.

And Byleth turns back time. 

.

This time, she avoids his attack and stays her sword.

“Raphael.” 

“Long time no see Professor.” There’s forced joviality in his tone as he turns to face her. 

“We don’t have to fight. Fall back.”

Raphael shakes his head. “I can’t do that.” 

And Byleth thinks, _why are you all so determined to die_? 

Still she settles into a battle stance. “You can’t hope to win against me. If you die, what will happen to your sister?”

He starts in surprise, obviously wondering how she knows about his sister. She and Raphael hadn’t spoken that much back at the academy, though they’d trained together sometimes. Byleth hadn’t known he had a sister up until a few minutes ago.

She presses on. “I want to get to Claude. There’s no reason for our sides to attack each other.”

Something in Raphael’s face hardens, and she hates to see it. “You attacked us first, Professor.”

She frowns. And then realises. “Dimitri,” she breathes.

“Yeah.” He raises his fists. “I’m here to fight for Claude. I won’t let you hurt him.” 

_Dimitri, you fool._

Not far from them, more fire erupts. Clearly, Edelgard’s mages haven’t been taken down yet. 

Neither she nor Raphael flinch, but when Byleth hears something behind her that alerts senses she’s relied on for years to keep her alive, she whirls around, whipping the Sword of the Creator, feeling it hit flesh through the fog.

“No!” Raphael yells, rushing her, this time knocking her back and onto the ground. Byleth manages to roll away before his next attack and leaps back to her feet. 

But Raphael isn’t attacking her, instead he’s leaning over the body of the person she just stabbed. 

.

Byleth doesn’t swear very often. Strange, perhaps, for someone who grew up around mercenaries, many of whom had a colourful vocabulary. Maybe it’s just because she didn’t talk that much growing up at all, and so never got into the habit. Her father hadn’t been that much for swearing either – at least, not around her.

But when she sees the body that Raphael is leaning over, the bloody, broken body of Ignatz, all she can say is, “… _shit_.”

She winds back time again. 

.

It takes a couple more tries before she manages not to kill either of them, and this time she’s manoeuvred them away from a clash of fighting and they stand not far away, watching her with suspicion. Ignatz has an arrow drawn, ready to let loose at her, and Byleth watches warily, trying to ignore the dull throb in her head that comes with using the Divine Pulse so much.

“Please,” she says, “I don’t want to fight the Alliance. I don’t want to kill you. If Claude can call back his troops, I’ll get to Dimitri and stop him.” They don’t need to know she’s got her own doubts about her ability to do that, but ultimately Dimitri is after Edelgard. He won’t go for the Alliance if they don’t get in his way.

She hopes.

“Dimitri is…” Ignatz starts and then stops. “He attacked us.” 

“I know.” Byleth is antsy. The longer they stand here, the more chance there is that someone she cares for will die and she won’t be able to stop it. As it is, she knows people are dying all around her and it’s selfish of her to pick and choose who to save. 

“I want to trust you, Professor, but I can’t. I can’t bring you to Claude.” There’s a hardness in Ignatz that she’s sure she never saw in him at the Academy, but he was another student she didn’t know well. She wishes she’d had the chance to. Ignatz narrows her eyes at her, his voice turning colder. “Especially not after what happened to Lorenz.”

She grits her teeth. “Lorenz sided with the Empire. And he wouldn’t back down.” She takes a deep breath. This is wasting time. 

Ignatz’s expression shifts to something more conflicted, and Byleth knows; his anger isn’t with her, not really, it’s with the Empire. When he lowers his arrow, just a tiny bit, she decides to take a risk. “Fine, don’t tell me where Claude is, but please fall back. Your deaths will accomplish nothing.” 

With that, she turns her back on them and leaves, and hopes they follow her advice. No arrow comes sailing towards her, perhaps because she’s already disappeared into the fog, or perhaps because they’re taking her advice. Whatever it is, Byleth is grateful. The last thing she wants to do is hurt them, but she’s not going to let them stop her.

In all their battles since she’s returned, they’ve had some semblance of control, even when those battles were hard fought and winning came with heavy casualties. But now, they don’t have that. They have disorder and confusion and Byleth has the creeping fear that it’ll be through this chaos that Edelgard succeeds in putting down the greatest threats to her regime. She’s played both Alliance and Kingdom well. The fireballs that rip through the air and burn and destroy everything where they land might be taking out her own troops, but she’s got the numbers and she’s obviously willing to make the sacrifice.

Byleth grits her teeth and continues on, cutting through countless Empire and Alliance soldiers in the hope of finding the one person who might be able to help her stop this.

.

Claude doesn’t believe in hell, but he still thinks if it exists it would look like Gronder Field. He’s east of the hill, which he’s pretty sure has gone up completely in flames. He’s only grateful none of his own troops were there before Edelgard set it alight. 

He’s fighting with his battalion, and it’s a confused mess of smoke and flame and fog. Failnought is of limited use here, but Claude is no slouch with an axe. If he couldn’t fight hand to hand, he’d be long dead by now. It’s just not his preferred way of doing things. 

If you asked him, Claude wouldn’t be able to tell you how long he’s been fighting for. But it feels like forever, and there’s no end in sight. But he’s seen no familiar faces from the opposing sides, which is a relief.

But as the endless fighting goes on, he knows this is hopeless. He can’t tell if they’re making any kind of dent in the Empire’s numbers, or if he’s pointlessly sent thousands of Alliance soldiers to their death for nothing. And every time he cuts down a Kingdom solider, his frustration mounts. 

This is all wrong. 

More fireballs rain down, landing a few feet in front of Claude, engulfing soldiers from all three armies in flames.

He swears, stepping backwards, before calling out for his own troops to fall back. They’ve managed to hold their lines pretty well, despite the chaos, but they’re still getting nowhere. If they can regroup, if this fog lifts enough for them to get wyverns in the air…

The damned fog shifts around him, and to Claude’s relief it looks like the Empire and Kingdom are too busy with each other to pay much attention to the retreating Alliance soldiers. 

But he’s still incredibly frustrated, partially at himself for dragging his army into this. He’s read this all wrong, he fears. And yet… what else could he do? 

Is this truly so hopeless?

.

From the corner of his eye, he notices a flash in the fog that makes him pause. He turns, alert, hoping to see it again.

And a moment later, there is it: the glow of a relic weapon. A weapon that seems to extend like a whip and all at once Claude’s heart starts thundering in his chest, and now it has nothing to do with the adrenaline from the heat of battle. 

It looks like he’s finally found Teach.

.

Byleth keeps heading east – or what she hopes is east – hoping to find that small wood that she’d encountered Claude in five years ago. From there, she hopes she’ll be able to find him, or another of his generals, and attempt some kind of dialogue. 

She’s alone now, having told Ashe what her plan is and to stick with his battalion. Byleth senses he’s safer away from her, for now. 

All the discussions and strategies they’d planned to use in this battle have proven to be useless, and there’s no end to it in sight. Gronder is a field of corpses. 

She has to find Claude. They have to be able to stop this.

.

By the time she finds the woods, she’s passed the bulk of the fighting. It’s not too far away, and the sounds of battle still reach her, but she can move a little easier.

She can at least be relieved no fireballs have dropped around her recently. Hopefully whatever mages have been doing that are dead. 

But the lull in fighting doesn’t mean she relaxes her guard. 

There’s a break in the fog. A sudden stillness. _Something_…

And a quiet creak behind her. Byleth turns, extending her sword. It misses its mark, and she draws it back, wrenching it out of a tree trunk as she steadily watches the shifting grey in front of her. There’s another soft noise from somewhere near her, and she holds her breath, ears straining. When she hears the unmistakable noise of a bow being drawn, she ducks down as it goes whizzing over her head. 

Another arrow, forcing her back.

Turning sharply, she sees a shape in the fog and raises her sword as the shape becomes more distinct.

She rushes forward, pushing them back, bringing her sword up to their throat as she shoves her assailant against a tree.

Her blade is just about to pierce skin when she realises who is it and freezes. There are a thousand changes in him that she catalogues all at once, none of which she can even begin to process.

But she’s finally found him.

“_Claude_.”

To Byleth’s dismay, there’s no warmth in his expression, even if she knows she couldn’t expect anything else. There’s not even surprise. His green eyes are walled up, guard higher than it ever had been at Garreg Mach. There’s nothing.

There’s only the dagger that she now feels, pressing against her stomach. 

.

Hilda had stayed close to Claude for the entirety of the battle, so it hadn’t been difficult for Claude to find her and tell her his plan. He’d instructed Hilda to go around while he shepherded Teach into the forest, where they were unlikely to suddenly be ambushed by an Empire solider. Where hopefully they could talk.

Except his plan had gone a little awry and now her sword is flush against the delicate skin of his throat, but her eyes are wide, searching his face. He has no idea what she’s thinking. Her sword is covered in blood, as is large parts of her armour. Between that and the ash in her hair making it look more grey than green, and the deep shadows under her eyes, she truly looks like the Ashen Demon she is so often called.

“Claude,” she whispers, like she’s somehow surprised to find him here.

“Expecting someone else?” he asks mirthlessly. He swallows and feels the metal press against his skin. She starts slightly but withdraws, removing the blade from his throat, although she still holds her sword ready.

Claude carefully sheathes his dagger, never taking his eyes off her. He doesn’t allow himself to think about how close she had just been to him, or how she looks completely unchanged since the last time he saw her, under the ash and blood. No distractions. His hand comes to rests on the handle of his axe and her eyes drop to the movement.

“I don’t want to fight you.” There’s a strain in her voice, one he remembers hearing that night before the battle at Garreg Mach. It had made him want to comfort him then, but he can’t do that now. He can’t trust this Byleth.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” he replies snidely, five years of uncertainty and grief catching up with him. “It was your prince that attacked us in the first place.” 

“We sent a messenger, asking to ally, before the battle.” Byleth’s voice has grown stronger, her words rushing out. Claude keeps his face passive, betraying nothing, and she continues. “When we got no response, we couldn’t count on you not being hostile. And when Dimitri realised Edelgard herself was here, he–“

“Went on a one man rampage. Yeah, my scouts told me. And we never got a message from you.”

She huffs in frustration. “I don’t know why. Claude, the Empire is our enemy, not each other.”

“I agree with you, but I don’t trust you to call your troops off mine if you can’t control your prince. Because they’ll follow him.” _You’ll follow him too, won’t you?_

“Call them back and I’ll take care of Dimitri. I don’t want to kill any of you.” There’s that authority in her voice that he’s missed, the certainty that her words will be done. But he can’t trust it.

Claude shakes his head, his tone bleak. “You killed Lorenz.”

Byleth’s face twists but she doesn’t drop her gaze. Just as she’s about to reply, something makes her suddenly step back further from him. She swings her sword around to block an attack, and there’s an almighty clash as she blocks Hilda’s axe, before spinning gracefully away from her. 

“Claude, my dear,” Hilda says with faux cheerfulness, never taking her eyes off Byleth. “I hope you aren’t hurt.”

“No, I’m not.” Byleth’s eyes flicker between him and Hilda, her expression giving nothing away. “Teach and I were just having a discussion.” 

Byleth’s eyes come to rest on his, with that fierce intensity he’s missed so much. “Take your troops south and then west, avoiding the central hill. It’s burning. I’ll take ours west and then south. We capture the Empire in a pincer attack. If you see Dimitri, avoid him. He’s out for Edelgard. He’ll ignore you if you ignore him.”

Hilda snorts. “Why should we believe you?”

Turning that cold mint gaze on Hilda, Byleth says in a cool tone, “Because this field is stacked high with corpses. From the Kingdom, the Alliance, the Empire. With the fog and the fire, I’m sure plenty were fighting their own countrymen without even knowing. It’s chaos. I’m trying to stop it. Individually, we don’t have enough soldiers to go against the Empire army. They’ll whittle us both down to nothing. We have to work together, or we both lose today.” 

Claude heaves a heavy sigh. “You’re right.” 

Hilda shoots him a glare. “Claude, you can’t trust her. Dimitri attacked us.”

Byleth doesn’t let Claude reply. “Dimitri can’t see beyond his own demons. We’d agreed to not attack your army without provocation but he…” She sighs and lowers her sword, to the surprise of them both. “All he can think about is killing Edelgard.” 

Sheathing her weapon, Byleth takes another step back, raising her hands. “If you really think I’m your enemy, then cut me down where I stand.” 

For a moment, time seems to stand still. Hilda is poised, but Claude can tell she’s uncertain She’ll defend herself and him, but she doesn’t want to kill Byleth. He blinks, realising that he’s able to see a little further than before, and he wonders if the fog might be lifting.

But he doesn’t take his eyes off Byleth to confirm, not yet.

Claude’s thoughts are whirling, trying to figure out her angle, trying to decide if he can trust her what she’s saying, trying to decide what the best decision is. So he does what he’s so good at; he keeps his words empty to buy time as he considers his options, even if he already knows he’s not going to kill her where she stands. “That’s quite a gambit, Teach.” 

“I can’t kill you.” She says it so plainly, like she’s stating a widely known, unquestionable fact and Claude desperately searches her face for answers. Her mouth is downturned, and her eyes are sad. She looks weary. 

But Hilda bristles. “You killed Lorenz!”

“I tried to talk to him,” she responds bleakly, turning her gaze over to Hilda. “I didn’t want to fight him.”

“But he was determined to do his duty, wasn’t he?” Claude’s voice is as glum as Byleth’s. He can absolutely picture Lorenz refusing to back down, thinking he was doing the right thing by following his father’s wishes.

She nods.

Claude takes a deep breath. “Just one last thing, Teach.” Her eyes flicker back over to him again, sending a jolt through him. She still has her hands raised, and while Claude knows she can use magic, there’s nothing aggressive about her posture. “Where have you been?”

“I was asleep.” The reply is so simple and absurd that Hilda lets out a noise of disbelief. 

But Claude believes her. Perhaps he shouldn’t, but Byleth has never been a liar. She continues on after a beat of silence, “I only woke up a few months ago, and found Dimitri at Garreg Mach. I lost five years.”

“That’s unbelievable, Professor.” But even Hilda is looking unsure and Claude knows why. Byleth has always done incredible things. 

“I would never have disappeared for five years by own choice, Claude.” Blyeth never takes her eyes off his, an imploring look in her eyes, like she’s asking him to understand. 

If what he’s saying is true, then… 

She never left him, not really. 

But Claude _can’t_ think about that now, not with the sounds of battle and death still not far away. 

He has to look away from her. As he does so, he realises he _can_ see more of his surroundings.

“Okay,” he says, making a decision. “We’ll do your plan.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hilda become more tense. “Hilda,” he turns to her, taking in her still uncertain expression. “Let’s go. We need to get to the wyverns. We can’t waste anymore time.”

Byleth glances up. “The fog is lifting,” she murmurs. 

Hilda glances from Byleth to Claude and back again, before sighing and nodding. She turns away, heaving her axe over her shoulder like it weighs nothing.

Claude takes a step after her, before pausing. “I hope I can trust you.” 

Sometimes flickers across her face, before it’s gone and there’s only determination in her eyes as her chin raises in the air. “You can.”

_And if I asked you to leave Dimitri and fight by my side, what then?_

Claude doesn’t ask. It’s not fair to ask that, now, and he thinks he knows what the answer will be. 

But he’s reluctant to part from her. There’s a lot he wants to say. But Hilda is disappearing in the distance, even through the lifting fog, and every second they waste is precious. 

Their first priority is to survive this.

“Take care of yourself, Claude.” Her voice is softer.

He shoots her a smirk, more insincere than he’d like. “You know me, Professor. Always do.” 

Her mouth turns downward again, but she doesn’t speak. 

Words left unspoken lie between them, too big to climb over right now.

In the distance, he hears Hilda call his name. 

“Well, that’s me,” he says, still smiling at her like she’s a stranger and not someone he’s been obsessing over for the last five years. “See you on the other side.”

And he walks away from her, each step heavy. He doesn’t look back even though he can feel her gaze because he needs to keep going. They have to win this battle and if he looks back he’s going to _turn_ back and he can’t do that.

Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, once again had to split this up but it was either post what I was able to manage to edit, or post nothing at all after promising I'd update today. (Even if it's after midnight by now, must sleep)
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter! <3 I haven't had a chance to respond but I really do appreciate them.


	9. Chapter 9

Byleth doesn’t move until Claude is out of her sight, disappearing between the trees. She’s determined to take in every last second of his presence. She trusts that he’ll do as he says, although she can’t deny her pain at the realisation that _he_ doesn’t trust _her_. 

But what else should she have expected?

She presses her hand to her heart. Unbeating it may be, but it still aches.

Now is not the time to think about it. If she survives this terrible battle, then she will. This is just another reason for sleep to evade her, giving her plenty of time to think and dwell and crawl over every aspect of her conversation with Claude. But for now she moves quickly, making up for lost time as she turns back the way she came, intent on finding her own army and stopping this madness. 

The fog is definitely lifting, although she can’t yet make out the sky, and Byleth realises she has no idea how long they’ve been fighting. She can’t tell what time it is. It feels like a lifetime ago that she lost track of Dimitri, at the start of the battle. How long has it been since she saw Felix, ordering him to find the prince? What is waiting for her in this miserable field?

At least she’s spotted no more fireballs falling down on them. She can only hope the mages responsible have been stopped.

It doesn’t take her too long to find some Kingdom cavalry engaging with Imperial troops. She helps defeat them, before barking out her orders. Some head north to gather their pegasus riders, who they hope will soon be able to fly. The rest go with her, raising the blue banner of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus high. It’s cleared enough so that others around them would be able to see. It would gather any other troops still straggling this far out, and let them know their army hasn’t fallen.

As they move, they skirt north of the central hill, and the stench of burning bodies follows them on the wind. The fog may be lifting, but smoke still lingers from the magical fire attacks, and large parts of the field still burn. 

Byleth trips over bodies, unable to stop and see if they’re Faerghus soldiers or someone she might know. Another thing to be done afterwards, if she makes it out alive. 

She finds Sylvain with his battalion, and Dorothea. And then Annette and Ashe. They’re all relieved when she relays the plan, glad to have a focus rather than this aimless fighting. 

None of them have seen Dimitri. Byleth doesn’t tell them that he attacked Alliance troops, and is at least partially responsible for how badly this has gone. They’re all already concerned and doubtful about him; no need to make it worse while they still have to fight. All she tells them is that she’s found Claude and they’ve come to an agreement. In this case, her relationship with Claude seems to work in her favour – they trust Byleth and if she trusts Claude that’s fine with them. None of them want to fight the Alliance. They know who the real enemy is.

But when Alliance wyvern riders fly over them, obviously searching for their own troops, tension hangs heavy in the air; weapons ready and magic primed. Byleth commands them all to stay their hands, but she can feel the tension coiling, like a bowstring drawn too tight.

But the Alliance wyverns all fly past. No one from either side attacks, and Byleth breaths a little easier, knowing Claude has made it back to his people and kept his word.

When a demonic beast appears through the smoke, those same Alliance riders assist the Kingdom before flying back south east. It’s something. 

They continue to push forward, and with the two armies working together and the lifting of the fog, the Empire forces begin to fall steadily under them.

Even though Byleth can see her people tiring, the plan is working, in fits and starts. The burning central hill works for them now, trapping the Empire in their pincer attack. The fog continues to clear, revealing a grey sky full of rainclouds. 

Byleth would very much like to finish this before they have to fight in a downpour.

.

Eventually, she finds Dimitri and the last of the Empire’s generals. 

It’s actually Areadbhar she spots first, glowing even under the blood it’s caked in, swinging at an enemy clad in red. 

Byleth pushes forward and sees Emperor Edelgard. She’s facing Dimitri. Not far off she can see Dedue and Felix, engaged in their own separate battles. In the distance, to the east, is the Alliance banner, their own forces also still fighting. She turns her attention back to Dimitri, picking up her pace.

Edelgard blocks Dimitri’s next blow with her axe, and nimbly leaps backwards out of range of his next swing. But she’s holding herself awkwardly and Byleth can see that she’s injured. Now in range, she spots her opening and goes to whip the Sword of the Creator at Edelgard, only to be suddenly hit with a vicious blast of dark magic, sending her staggering backwards, hitting the ground awkwardly. 

Her head reels at the unexpected attack, bile rising in her throat. It’s the kind of magic that burns through the body, viciously. Even drawing a breath hurts. But Byleth is still alert enough to spot Hubert with his hands raised to strike again. This time, Byleth manages to dodge by rolling away, and she sees the the anger flash across Hubert’s face.

“I should have disposed of you a long time ago,” he hisses, preparing another attack as Byleth staggers back to her feet, trying to ignore the pain and nausea from his magic. 

She hears someone call her as if from a great distance – Ashe, she thinks absently. That thought is confirmed when Hubert is forced backwards by an arrow. His face twists and he prepares another spell, but a shout from Edelgard grabs his attention, and he immediately turns towards his Emperor.

Dimitri is advancing on Edelgard, his intent clear on his face. But Hubert is moving, and the spell prepared for Byleth hits Dimitri, making him stagger. It doesn’t knock him off his feet, but Byleth can see that even Dimitri is worn down from this never-ending battle, and it takes him longer than it should to stand tall and ready his lance again. 

She lets Ashe help her up, and starts moving towards Dimitri, but she feels like she’s pushing through water, and Hubert is going to reach Edelgard in seconds. With a pained grunt, Byleth lifts her sword just as Dimitri raises Areadbhar again, ready to bring it down on his enemy, who is on her knees on the ground, staring up at the glowing point of Dimitri’s spear.

But Hubert is there, touching her shoulder and helping her up, magic already rising around him. Byleth sees Edelgard blink and glance around, and their eyes meet for a brief second; Edelgard’s widening with an emotion Byleth can’t identify. 

In the next second they’re gone, warped away by Hubert’s magic, and Areadbhar sails through nothing but air. 

.

As nice as it would be if Edelgard’s departure ended the battle, it’s never quite so neat. But with no firm leadership and with the Kingdom bearing down from the north and the Alliance from the east, the Imperial army will soon break. Already there are soldiers slipping away, knowing they’ve been defeated. 

Byleth takes this in as she focuses on getting to Dimitri, still recovering from Hubert’s attack. He’s staring at the place where Edelgard had been just seconds ago with a dark expression on his face.

“She thinks she can _escape_?” His voice is a hiss, hatred spilling from every syllable. He’d been so close and Edelgard has still gotten away. 

His expression is darker than Byleth has ever seen, and that’s saying something. “Dimi–“

“She thinks she will live another day? I will find her and gut her and leave her entrails for the vultures.” He’s shaking, actually shaking with rage, and his gaze razes from the ground to Byleth. The spitting anger in his voice turns to a chilling calm that sends a shiver of cold down her spine. “Gather the troops. We will find that witch and end this today.”

“Dimitri, we’ve won this battle, but the army needs to rest. They can’t keep going.” Her voice is hoarse, and it hurts to speak.

“They will, or I will _make_ them keep going.” There’s no mistaking the threat in his voice.

“Your Highness.” Dedue appears at Dimitri’s shoulder. He looks as worn and weary as the rest of them, but mostly unharmed. “You are injured. Perhaps we should–“

Dimitri shoves himself away from Dedue, turning to take in the battlefield. “No, we have that witch and her rat on the run, and we will not stop until we’ve hunted them down and slaughtered them like the vermin they are.”

Dimitri keeps talking, until Dedue nods and walks away to do his orders, and Byleth is suddenly furious. She knows Dedue would carry out any order of Dimitri’s, but this is madness.

She presses a hand to her head, trying to pull herself together to try and draw back time – if she can dodge Hubert’s attack, she can get to Edelgard. They can kill her, and end this. 

But she can only manage a few seconds, ending up back in the middle of Dimitri’s rant to Dedue. She wavers slightly, and might almost have fallen over if it weren’t for a hand on her arm.

“Professor, let me help you.” It’s Mercedes, with a concerned look on her face. Byleth leans into her and lets her faith magic wash over her, mending the cuts and bruises on her body, and easing some of the nausea and damage that Hubert’s attack had done. 

“Were you hit with dark magic, Professor?” Mercedes asked, turning her so she can look her in face. She wipes gently just above Byleth’s lip, her glove coming away bloody. Byleth hadn’t even realised her nose is bleeding. More of Mercedes gentle magic stems the flow of blood, and Byleth can feel her head clearing slightly.

“Yes,” she answers, voice creaking. “Hubert.”

Mercedes sighs, brow crinkling in concern. “Then you know you need to rest.” She pauses, a sad expression crossing her face as she briefly glances at Dimitri. “We all do.” 

“Are you alright?” 

She smiles, but it’s strained. “I am, thank you for asking. But I… tried to heal Dimitri a while ago. He told me not to bother, that the effort would be wasted on him. But he’s hurt.” Byleth cuts her glance towards the prince, who is now barking out orders, and she can see by the way he’s holding himself that he’s carrying an injury of some kind. She’d guess not too seriously, but it’ll slow him down. 

Mercedes continues, “We’re all so worried about him, Professor.”

“I know, I’ll speak to him.” Byleth straightens up, trying to pull some resolve or strength or anything that might help her talk down Dimitri. She feels frayed and unravelling; from the battle, from Claude, from Hubert’s attack, from Dimitri, from everything. The longer she stands in this field that’s now a graveyard of thousands, the worse she’s going to feel. 

Mercedes smiles at her and moves on to tend to more wounded. 

Byleth watches Dimitri for a moment, now speaking urgently with Rodrigue, and obviously getting increasingly agitated. Trying to pull herself together, she moves closer but remains at a distance, listening and watching as she attempts to figure out if there’s any way to convince Dimitri to stop. 

“Your Highness,” Rodrigue’s tone is urgent, “we _must_ fall back. The Empire is quickly regathering to the south; they have fresh soldiers. Despite their losses, that will win them the day.”

“No.” The cold, uncaring slant of Dimitri’s voice still cuts through Byleth. “Do not make me repeat myself, Rodrigue.” 

Rodrigue, to his credit, is arguing harder than Byleth expects, probably because Dimitri’s way means certain death and the end of their fight. She considers for a moment simply knocking Dimitri out. He’d never, ever forgive her, and she’s not entirely certain he wouldn’t kill her when he came to. But this can’t go on. 

They’ve all been complicit in this madness for too long. 

Byleth drags a hand, a bloodied hand, over her filthy face, weary. So weary. The noise of Rodrigue pleading with Dimitri to fall back instead of pursuing Edelgard seems to come from a great distance. Her attention wanders back to the troops, currently being reformed into some semblance of order so they can get an idea of their numbers. These people who are fighting for Dimitri. 

There’s no way they can do what Dimitri is asking – no, demanding – of them. 

Her eyes turn eastward, towards the Alliance army that’s also falling back. She watches the wyverns through the now clear sky, and wonders if she’s looking at Claude. They’ve kept a safe enough distance, obviously heeding her warning to stay out of Dimitri’s way. And she’s glad for it, because she’s not sure what Claude’s reaction would be if he sees Dimitri as he is; bloodthirsty, unhinged, dangerous. Willing to sacrifice the lives of countless people, even his allies and his friends, to get his revenge. 

Distracted as she is, Byleth does not notice the girl break from the Kingdom’s lines and make her way towards Dimitri. She does not see her approach him, drawing her dagger. 

Byleth is only aware that something is wrong when she hears Rodrigue’s pained gasp. She turns, taking in the scene before her immediately – Rodrigue in front of Dimitri, a blade embedded in his chest. The twist of anger on the girl’s face. 

Dimitri’s look of anguish.

It’s instinctual for her to draw her sword and quickly cut down the assassin, and when she turns back to Dimitri, she sees him cradling Rodrigue in a way that reminds her of how she’d held her father before he died. 

It’s startling enough to make her pause, hand dropping to her side, sword held loosely. 

Dimitri’s voice breaks. There’s no vengeance in it now.

Rodrigue coughs wetly. “Are you safe? Please tell me… it wasn’t in vain…”

“This punishment, it was mine to bear.” Dimitri sounds so anguished, tears gathering in his eye. He suddenly looks so young to Byleth.

His voice breaks, pleading. “Please don’t die!” 

She’s unable to move as she watches Dimitri break down.

Rodrigue’s breath rattles, and his face is white, but he looks fondly at Dimitri. “Your life is your own. It belongs to no other, living or dead. Live for what you believe in.”

There’s something on Dimitri’s face mixed in with the grief that reminds her a little of when he’d seen Dedue again, on the bridge. 

“I am sorry,” Dimitri whispers. “My actions have led to this.” He glances up, looking wildly around the battlefield and shakes his head before dropping his eyes again. “I am so sorry.”

A noise near her startles her out of her shock and she turns her head to see Felix, eyes wide as he watches his father die – his father who’s dying words have all been for the prince. 

It’s enough to remind Byleth of what she can do, and slightly rejuvenated from Mercedes magic, this time she manages to pull back time just enough.

.

Now, she pays attention instead of turning towards the Alliance army. She sees the girl approaching and moves to intercept before Rodrigue even realises she’s a threat.

The girl has no hope against Byleth, who easily knocks her to the ground, knocking the dagger out of her hands and sending it skittering across the grass flattened from the battle. 

“Wh- what?” Dimitri turns, brows furrowed, and Rodrigue steps up beside him, taking in the situation immediately.

“An assassin?” He directs the question towards Byleth.

She nods, and the girl lets out a frustrated cry, unable to get out of Blyeth’s grasp. “He’s… he’s a monster,” she spits, glaring up at Dimitri. “A monster!” She all but screams the words, but then she sobs. “He killed my brother.”

Dimitri is unmoved. “Your brother,” he says coldly. “Empire swine, I presume, whoever he was. He deserved to die. As do you.”

His voice is so cold again, a deeply unpleasant contrast to how he’s sounded just a moment ago in his grief. At least then he had seemed human.

“No. No!” She twists in Byleth’s grasp but it’s futile. She cries, breath catching on her sobs. “You deserve to die for what you’ve done.” 

Byleth swallows back a feeling of revulsion – at herself, at Dimitri. They have to stop Edelgard, in that she very much agrees with Dimitri, but as they stand on the field at Gronder, already stinking with corpses, there is a part of her that understands this girl. After all, Byleth herself had sought revenge for Jeralt’s death.

Where will all this vengeance end? 

“Your Highness.” Rodrigue places a hand on Dimitri’s arm, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead he draws Areadbhar again, still glaring at the girl. 

“You will die. You will all die.” His voice raises, losing all semblance of calm. “Gather our forces. We continue marching to Enbarr, immediately.” 

“Your Highness, we can’t!” Rodrigue sounds aghast. “The Emperor still lives and her numbers are still considerable. Our troops are weary. We must fall back to Myrddin and gather ourselves before–“

“No!” Dimitri snarls, turning on Rodrigue with a dangerous look. “We will not stop until she is dead. We will not rest. That woman must die.” His attention returns to the still struggling girl held by Byleth. “As must you. Do you have a preference for how you would like to die? By my spear? Shall I crush your skull?” He steps forward. “Release her, Professor.”

But Byleth doesn’t. There’s a buzzing in her head as she watches Dimitri. Behind him stands Rodrigue and Dedue. She meets Dedue’s eyes, who looks so worried and concerned. But neither of them will stop Dimitri. Rodrigue’s protests won’t last much longer.

Nothing will stop Dimitri from this path. 

Nothing will stop Dimitri unless he truly realises how this path will destroy them all, because it will. 

Byleth thinks of his expression as Rodrigue had died, hating herself for what she’s considering.

“Release her, Professor. Do not stand in my way.” Dimitri’s voice is dangerous and Byleth returns her gaze to him. She draws in a breath, tears filling her eyes at the thought of what she’s going to do. If Dimitri notices, he doesn’t care. 

He raises Areadbhar. 

She wonders if he’ll bring it down on her, if he’s so enraged that he’ll cut through even her to reach his goal. Behind her, she hears Felix snarl something, and an anguished plea from Annette. Dimitri ignores them all.

But then, Dimitri has already told Byleth that he would use them all until they die. Dimitri won’t stop on this path until _he_ dies, that is obvious. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so surprised at the thought that he would do this. He is leading them down a path filled with nothing but ashes and death. 

Again she thinks of his words and his expression as he held a dying Rodrigue.

It hurts this time, to use the Divine Pulse, but she manages it. Byleth makes time tick backwards once more.

And lets Rodrigue die.

.

Byleth staggers when time starts again, bile rising in her throat. But she manages to catch herself. She raises a hand to her nose almost absently; trying to stem the flow of blood from it, wondering if it’s from Hubert’s dark magic or her use of the Divine Pulse.

She forces herself to watch, to see the consequences of her choice. Dimitri’s grief.

And Felix’s. 

His eyes are fixed on his father, an expression of disbelief on his face. When Sylvain places a hand on his arm and murmurs something, Felix shrugs it off angrily, and stalks away. Sylvain’s face falls, but he follows, close on Felix’s heels.

Byleth watches, but lets them go and says nothing. She cannot bring herself to be such a hypocrite to offer words of comfort after what she’s done, even if none of them know. Instead she lets their grief pierce her. She lets the knowledge of what she’s done sink into her aching bones. 

She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to look Felix in the face again.

Dimitri raises his eyes from Rodrigue’s rapidly cooling body to hers, looking as lost as a child. 

Byleth has no words for him, knowing too well it’s her fault that he has another ghost on his conscience. Instead she steps forward, kneeling so that they’re face to face and places a gentle hand on his head. Dimitri tilts forward into her shoulder, almost knocking her backwards with his strength, a tiny sob escaping him. 

Her own eyes are dry, unseeing to the bustle around her as orders are shouted for the army to fall back to Myrddin. There’s no question of pressing forward now, not with their great general dead and their prince shattered. 

Because of her.

.

“A message from the Kingdom, my lord.”

Claude stops from where he had been stalking through his army, trying to get an idea of their losses. They have no firm numbers yet but the truth is stark – they’ve been greatly diminished. Thousands of Alliance soldiers died today.

It sits heavy on him, as does the knowledge that his army is now so weakened that the Empire – even with their losses from today – could likely defeat them easily. 

He lets none of this concern show on his face, taking the message from the scout and telling them to wait should he need to send a reply.

This isn’t what he expected; he’d expected an actual discussion with the Kingdom once the battle was over. They’d begun at odds and ended as allies, and he’d hoped that meant they’d continue working together.

The message is short, obviously written hastily. Empire regrouping to the south in large numbers, Edelgard still lives. 

_Huh._

The Kingdom is falling back. They recommend the Alliance do the same as the Empire has fresh soldiers to replenish their troops.

Claude hadn’t seen Dimitri himself, though his soldiers who _had_ are unsettled by the encounter. But he knows that Dimitri had pushed to march on Enbarr rather than secure his seat at Fhirdiad. It’s been bothering him, in truth, knowing that if Dimitri is as unhinged as all accounts point towards him being, than Claude won’t be able to continue being his ally for long. And that would make Byleth his enemy for real. 

Would she still follow Dimitri if he went too far? _Has_ he gone too far? 

From what Byleth had said, it seemed Dimitri was rather single minded on getting to Edelgard. What has changed?

Claude’s eyes glance over the signatures at the bottom; fewer than the last message. Gilbert, Byleth and… Duke _Felix_ Fraldarius, scratched so aggressively into the parchment it’s ripped a hole under the _F_ of Fraldarius. 

So. Rodrigue must be dead. 

Claude feels a pang of sympathy for Felix.

And what of Dimitri? He’s not one of the signatories but Claude knows the prince is not dead. What would make him unable to sign his name?

He glances west, through still lingering clouds of smoke, to where the Kingdom army had been. Too many questions, not enough answers, and he wonders what, exactly, this battle has accomplished except for death and grief. Gronder is now nothing but a mass grave.

Claude feels heavier, wondering if he’s left himself more vulnerable than before. 

But if the Alliance hadn’t ended up fighting alongside the Kingdom, the Imperial army would have wiped them out, one after another.

That could still happen, especially if the Kingdom is retreating. The Empire might now focus entirely on the Alliance. 

They’re going to have to retreat. Move back to Derdriu. 

They don’t even have the numbers to keep the Bridge of Myrddin secure. 

What schemes are left to him now? 

Judith approaches, face grim and Claude wordlessly hands her the letter, silent as she quickly reads it. 

“So, we must retreat too,” she says impassively. “This has been a dark day for us all.” She reads through the letter once more and shakes her head. “This is all they can say? After what their prince did?”

“I think,” Claude’s words are slow as he considers,” much of it is down to the Empire. They’ve sewed discord among both sides. Dimitri took the bait.”

“He is unfit to lead.”

“Possibly.” As much as he might not want to, Claude agrees with Judith’s assessment. He glances up, noting that it’s beginning to rain. “I’d like to speak to him myself, but…” He shrugs expansively. “For now, we fall back and lick our wounds. Do our best to secure Derdriu. The Empire will come after us, or they’ll pursue Dimitri.” 

And Byleth. 

Claude thinks of her, unchanged after five years. 

No, not entirely unchanged. She’d looked worn down, tired. Claude can relate. Her burden is as heavy as his. 

He still cannot sort out his feelings for her, not yet. He hasn’t had a moment alone since he’d met her. 

Claude knows at least that he had done the right thing in allying with her. Today has been a futile disaster, but it could have been so much worse if Byleth hadn’t made the effort to stop it. She’d trusted Claude to at least listen to her.

But she still fights for Dimitri. So Claude does not allow the wall he’s built back up around himself to crack.

He thinks it might be time to send a message east. Perhaps he should have done it sooner, but he doesn’t like to second guess himself. 

There’s no point in doing that now, anyway. All he can do is try and prevent more senseless death – an aim he already knows he’s going to fail at. Whether the Emperor directs her wrath on Leicester or Faerghus first, people are going to die.

The rain falls heavier, and he looks back at Judith, still standing tall under the heavy weight of this day. 

“Give the order. We’re going back to Derdriu.”

.

Byleth notices Dimitri slinking off, shoulders hunched as if to make himself smaller and less noticeable. That’s impossible, of course, not only for the width and height of him, but also because he’s the soon to be king, and there are always eyes on him. Usually wary eyes, these days.

But no one stops him as he breaks away from the main group. Byleth makes sure to follow at a safe distance, wondering where he’s going. They’ve made it back to the Bridge of Myrddin where they’ll rest for the night. Their army is exhausted – there had been no question of making it back to Garreg Mach in a single march. 

No one quite knows what’s going to happen next. She’s had a hushed conversation with Seteth and Gilbert about Dimitri’s mental state, and they’re all in agreement that falling back is the best course of action for now. With Rodrigue gone, and Felix in no state of mind to take up his father’s mantle just yet, they’re down a leader. Morale is low. They still haven’t figured out the final death tally after Gronder. Countless are injured. And there’s a good chance the Empire will retaliate, and bring their strength against them. It’s imperative they get to Garreg Mach soon – at least they’ll be in a defensible position.

Dimitri’s crazed march to Enbarr has ended how Byleth feared it would – in death and disaster.

When she finds Dimitri among their horses, she realises she was right to follow him. Ever since Rodrigue died, Dimitri has been in a daze. Quiet and grief stricken. He’d given no orders and made no compliant as they retreated. But Byleth has been waiting for something to happen. She’d expected his anger to return, and his need to kill Edelgard to become more pressing than ever. As she sees him swing himself up onto a horse, she quickens her pace, grabbing the reigns just as he’s about to turn and lead the horse out of their camp. 

She knows what he’s planning.

Dimitri glares down at her. “Let go.” 

“No.” The rain that had begun as they left Gronder still falls around them, heavy and biting as the wind picks up. Some of Byleth’s hair falls across her eyes, but she makes no attempt to move it, instead clutching tight of the reigns in one hand, and the horse’s bridle in the other. 

“Let go. _Now_.” Dimitri’s own fingers tighten around the reigns, but he doesn’t yank them away. 

“No,” Byleth says again. “If you’re planning on going to Enbarr, you’ll have to drag me with you.” 

Dimitri’s jaw clenches and he looks away. Looks south, to Gronder, to Enbarr. To Edelgard. “You do not understand. I must–“

“Do you think this will appease the dead?”

He turns to glare at her. Byleth is used to it by now. She’s used to his biting words and threats, and she’s become good at judging his mercurial moods. But this time there’s something different about him; the something she might have glimpsed when Dedue returned to them, the something she definitely saw when Rodrigue died. 

His doubt at what he’s doing.

She watches him carefully, only half listening to his words, because they’re words he’s said countless times before – how the dead are powerless, how it is his burden as the one who lived to avenge them. How this is the path he must continue down. It’s not that she’s uncaring to his suffering and heavy weight on him, but Byleth is more focused on Dimitri’s tone and the conflict dancing across his face. He’s saying these words but he’s doubting. In the face of Rodrigue’s death, he can’t keep ignoring how this is destroying him and how it will destroy them all. His revenge will come at too high a price. Her fingers curl tighter as she hopes. She _hopes_.

“Professor.” His voice cracks as his shoulders slump forward. “Please, tell me. How do I silence their desperate pleas? How do I… how do I save them? Ever since that day nine years ago… I have lived only to avenge the fallen. ”

Byleth thinks of how Dimitri had been five years ago. Trying so hard that he fooled nearly everyone around him. Felix – caustic and hurtful as he had been – had seen through it. Byleth had suspected something deeper was wrong, as did some others. But no one really helped. 

And then everything went to hell. 

No, for Dimitri, everything went to hell at Duscur. 

She let go of the horse and stepped closer. “You’ve suffered enough, Dimitri. This doesn’t have to consume you.”

He stares at her, rain plastering his hair to his face. Once again he makes Byleth think of a lost little boy, and when he speaks, he almost sounds like he’s pleading with her. “But then who – or what – should I live for?”

Byleth does not want to give him empty platitudes, and she’s silent for a moment as she considers. “For those that are alive and care about you. For what you believe in.” Is that what she’s doing, she wonders. Is that what she’s living for? It’s not a question she’s ever contemplated. 

Dimitri takes in a shuddering breath. “What I believe in… Rodrigue said the same thing. But is it possible… I am a murderous monster. My hands are stained red. Could one such as I truly hope for such a life? As the sole survivor of that day, do I… Do I have the right to live for myself?”

She does not tell Dimitri that all of their hands are stained red. She killed soldiers from both the Empire and the Alliance today. She’s killed _countless_. She’s used the Divine Pulse to spare the lives of those she cares for. 

She used it to let Rodrigue die. 

Byleth feels like she knows something of being a monster. As disgusted as some of Dimitri’s actions have left her, it’s not like she has much of a moral high ground. But she does not say this because this isn’t about her, and she very much doubts Dimitri is capable of handling her bullshit as well as his own. And anyway, she knows the truth of her answer. They all have the right to live for themselves.

“Yes, you do.” She reaches out her hand to him. Dimitri stares at it for a moment before reaching out, and at the same time throwing his leg over the horse and dismounting. Byleth is surprised at how awkward he moves, and she realises he’s still injured. All the more reason for them to get back to Garreg Mach. 

He keeps a hold of her hand, looking down almost puzzled. His fingers are cold against her, chilled from the rain.

Eventually his head raises and he meets her gaze, something like wonder in his eyes. 

“Your hands are so warm… Have they always been?”

She smiles, and curls her other hand around his, as if she can press her warmth into him. “I’m not sure. But we should get out of the rain.”

Dimitri glances around, like he’s just remembered where they are. “I… Yes.” He lets go of her hands but follows as she begins to walk back through the camp, in the direction of Dimitri’s room. He remains silent as they go, and Byleth is thankful they don’t pass any of their friends as they move. No one disturbs them. When she reaches the room put aside for Dimitri at the Alliance end of the Bridge, she ushers him in. Looking rather lost, he sits down heavily at the table, seeming hardly aware of what’s going on around him. 

Byleth frowns, wondering how best to proceed and considering getting Mercedes. But she decides against it for now, instead building up the fire and slipping out to arrange for some food to be brought to Dimitri’s room. Getting him to eat a decent meal and rest for a few hours would be a good start. While she’s out, she’s stopped by Gilbert, who hears with some relief that Dimitri is in his room, and then by Sylvain, who looks exhausted. 

“How’s Felix?” Byleth asks the question carefully, guilt pricking her skin.

Sylvain winces. “Pretending that he doesn’t care.”

She struggles to respond to that. “Is… is there anything I can do?”

“Just duel with him when he asks. I think you’re the only one he considers a challenge.”

Byleth nods at that, still not knowing what to say, and watches Sylvain disappear into the rainy night. She considers finding Felix herself, but she also knows that her condolences won’t be well received. Even without knowing that she’d let Rodrigue die, she’ll be met with a scowl. She’d only be going to appease her own conscience. 

Instead, she makes her way back to Dimitri’s room, knocking lightly. In the time she’s been gone, his food has arrived, as has Dedue, and she sits across from from at the table, watching Dimitri pick at his meal as she forces down some food herself. She and Dedue talk quietly, but both of them are really watching Dimitri, who looks deep in thought. But, she thinks, calmer than she’s seen him since she returned. Like for once he’s contemplating something other than murder.

As she eats and gets warmer, Byleth really begins to feel the effects of the day. Two days? How many hours has she been awake? Her body aches despite the healing she’d gotten from Mercedes. 

Dedue’s eyes cut from Dimitri to her as he watches her move, no doubt picking up on her pain and exhaustion. “You should rest, Professor. I will watch over His Highness.”

The use of his title seems to rouse Dimitri from his thoughts, and he lifts his head, blinking at them. “I am… I am well, Dedue.”

Neither of them call him out on this blatant lie, but Byleth decides she will try and get some sleep. Dimitri seems stable for now, and she thinks… she hopes that he’s turned a corner. 

Tomorrow will be another brutal march as they attempt to get back to Garreg Mach as quickly as possible. And then they have to decide what they’re doing next. 

So she stands. “I’ll talk to you both in the morning.”

Just as she’s moving away, Dimitri speaks. “Professor. I…” 

She pauses and turns to him, waiting. He’s looking at her with an open, sincere expression.

“I am sorry. For how I have acted, and for the words I have said. For my cruelty. You… you have stood by me when many would not have faulted you for leaving.” He seems to have an internal struggle with himself for a moment before relaxing and continuing. “I still feel I do not know how to… live… for myself. How to put aside the pleas of the dead. But I would like to try. I fear I will still need your help in the coming months, but I understand if you wish to leave.” Another struggle, and a flash of discomfort. “If you would wish to go to Claude.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the minute expression of surprise on Dedue’s face. Byleth is surprised too. 

She’s never thought of leaving. Even if they hadn’t placed the burden of leadership on her, she’d still have fought to end this war. 

“I’m not leaving,” she says decisively and Dimitri relaxes a fraction. 

“But…” he begins hesitantly, and she knows he’s going to bring up Claude again. She wishes he wouldn’t. “What of Claude?”

Byleth swallows down a lump in her throat, and is careful to keep her voice even. “It’s been five years. I don’t think it matters.” 

_Liar_.

It matters to her. It might not to Claude. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know him anymore, and he certainly doesn’t trust _her_ anymore. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. It aches as much as the blast from Hubert’s magic aches. Every time she tries to stop and think about the changes in Claude, all she can see are those brilliant green eyes, cold and calculating. At the worst, viewing her as an enemy. At the best, evaluating her as something he can use, again. She’s not his friend any more, or someone he can trust. She’s not his… _whatever_ she’d been to him back then. 

She’d _rather_ take a blast of Hubert’s dark magic than deal with this gutting pain inside her, this horrible loneliness that’s been growing bigger and deeper inside her since her father died.

Byleth draws herself up, meeting Dimitri’s conflicted gaze. “It doesn’t matter,” she says again, strong and decisive. 

Lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long. I've been struggling with this chapter for literally two months. 😬 I actually can't look at it anymore even though I'm not happy with it, but I really want to move onto the fun stuff (and by that I mean the Claudeleth stuff 👀). I sincerely hope it doesn't take me so long to update again, but I've already made a good start on the next chapter so I don't expect it to.
> 
> Right after Gronder, Gilbert calls it a victory and then in the next sentence talks about how they lost Rodrigue, considerable military strength, and a bunch of resources and I'm like ???? How is that a victory, you deadbeat? "We weren't _completely_ annihilated in this entirely pointless battle so I guess we win" ?
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/flowerfuls)


	10. Chapter 10

There are conversations going on over her head that she probably should pay attention to, but Byleth’s eyes remain on the reports from the Battle at Gronder, which are spread out on the table in front of her. It’s sobering reading.

She hadn’t realised until she’d read them that Petra and Bernadetta had both been there, fighting for the Empire. And while Petra had retreated, Bernadetta is dead. Byleth can’t take any satisfaction in the knowledge that the loss of Edelgard’s generals are a benefit to them. All she can think about is how she used to talk to Bernadetta through the door of her room, hoping that she’d come out. That girl should never have been in a war.

She’s dead. Like Lorenz, like Ferdinand.

Another weight to sit heavy in her stomach. More guilt to feel when she looks at Dorothea’s stricken face, even if this time Byleth had no personal hands in their deaths.

She wonders if Bernadetta was given any kind of burial, or if she’s still lying on the field among the rest of the countless dead.

“Byleth.”

Jerking her head up, realising she’d been lost in morose thoughts again, Byleth meets Seteth’s concerned look.

“Are you well?”

Forcing a serene look onto her face, Byleth nods. Seteth looks unconvinced, but at that moment Sylvain and Felix enter the Cardinal’s Room, which means everyone is here and the meeting can commence.

Byleth watches Felix as he takes his seat, clenching her hands under the table, letting her nails bite into her palms. She’s spoken to him little since Gronder, but she can see his grief, although it’s hidden well under his usual layer of anger. In truth, Byleth has felt unable to speak to him properly, not sure if she can handle his pain on top of Dimitri’s and her own. She knows that Felix has solid support around him – there’s Sylvain, of course, so often by his side, and Ingrid. And she’d caught him quietly sitting on the ground outside the greenhouse one morning, listening to Annette singing one of her songs about plants as she worked inside, with something of an almost smile on his face.

Byleth hadn’t disturbed him – it had been the most peaceful she’d ever seen him.

She thinks he’ll be okay, eventually.

Dimitri rises once everyone has taken their seats. He’s made a lot of progress even in the short time they’ve been back at Garreg Mach. She’s seen him speaking to everyone, trying to make amends, promising to do better. He’s still struggling and questioning his own worth, but he’s less… _consumed_ now. He’s eating with everyone again, and the awkward silence at his first arrival in the dining hall had been quickly smoothed over thanks to Annette and Mercedes, all smiles and welcomes. To everyone’s relief, he’s bathing regularly. He’s beginning to look a little better, less grey and pinched, although Sylvain told her that Dimitri had moved back into his old dorm room, and that he’d heard him having nightmares.

Byleth doesn’t know how to bring that up. She doesn’t know if she _should_. And she doesn’t know how to help with nightmares – she can’t stop her own.

It is clear though, that Dimitri is doing better. That he’s trying. That he wants to be the king his people deserve and is trying to prove this through his actions, as well as his many apologies to them all. He’s still putting himself under too much pressure, and Byleth fears he might crack. But it makes her feel better to see him with the others again – be it at dinner, or training, or in the marketplace. If he falls again, there are people to catch him. What happened to him and Dedue in Fhirdiad won’t happen again.

Casting his eye over them all, Dimitri regards them solemnly. “I believe now it was a mistake to march on Enbarr without first liberating Fhirdiad. It is time to rectify that error. If we retake the Kingdom capital and put down the Empire invaders, we will be in a much better position to make the final move on Edelgard. It will also release the citizens of Fhirdiad from the tyranny of the Empire.”

There are nods and murmurs of agreement at his words. Byleth thinks it’s what everyone has wanted to do since the start, even if Seteth and the Knights of Seiros think Rhea is held in Enbarr. They can’t deny that this is the correct course.

They are _finally_ on the right path..

.

Later that night, she stares at an almost empty piece of parchment. Her quill hovers over it as she considers what to write.

There’s only one word written so far.

_Claude_.

She doesn’t know what to say to him.

They haven’t had any communication with the Alliance since Gronder. With their eyes now turned to Faerghus, it hasn’t been necessary. The question of asking the Alliance for assistance in retaking Fhirdiad had been quickly shut down – it had been clear they’d need what is left of their army to defend their own territory in case the Empire came calling. Obviously at some point discussions would have to happen between the two nations, but for now it isn’t needed.

Byleth has no official reason to write to Claude.

But she feels like she has to. Even if he hates her or thinks she’s his enemy, at least she can tell him that she’s sorry she disappeared. She never meant to. She’s not his enemy. _She misses him_.

The words don’t come. She tries to imagine what she would say if Claude was here, standing in front of her, but still the words stick because she sees this older Claude, worn down by years of war, with cold eyes and a fake smile, looking at her like she’s a stranger.

How is she supposed to talk to that Claude?

She can’t, so she doesn’t. Instead she thinks of the Claude she’d known, who’d slowly opened up to her and learned to trust. Who’d called her _my friend_ with a twinkle in his eye and a warm smile. Who’d held her when her father died, who’d kissed her on the bridge.

Who she loves. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Because even now there’s no one else she’s ever felt like this for, or can imagine feeling like this for. Even if five years pass, she doesn’t think she’ll ever stop feeling like this, even if Claude has.

She considers that as she writes the letter, in fits and starts, but doesn’t put that word on the parchment. That seems too big, a thought too new to put into any kind of physical form. But holding it back makes the letter even more difficult to write. And anyway, the Claude she’s writing to – the Claude she’s in love with – probably doesn’t exist anymore. Despite that, as she watches the ink dry, Byleth feels a little lighter. Something has been unburdened in her, and she decides there and then she’s going to be selfish and send one of their pegasus riders to Derdriu with this letter immediately, and hope her unwanted status as acting Archbishop will for once be welcome and prevent anyone questioning her.

If she dies in Fhirdiad or Enbarr, at least she won’t have a regret about this.

.

.

“My lord, a letter for you.”

Claude turns at the voice, lowering his training bow, irritated by the interruption. But he schools his face borne from years of practice and accepts the letter, immediately checking the seal.

It’s blank, just plain red wax pressed against the envelope. He flips it over. On the front is written his name, just his name with no title – _Claude von Riegan_ – in a loopy scrawl that he recognises from his time as a student and, more recently, etched at the bottom of official letters. This is not an official letter. This is personal.

If it can be believed.

“Where did this come from?” He snaps at the messenger.

“A Kingdom pegasus rider, my lord,” is the somewhat nervous reply. “She’s already left. Said she was under orders to deliver this and return immediately as a matter of urgency.”

Claude stares down at the letter he knows to be from Byleth, floored. He hadn’t expected this. Swallowing hard, he looks up at the messenger. “What matter of urgency?”

“She didn’t say.”

_Of course not._

Dismissing the man, Claude waits until he’s out of sight before tearing the envelope open. The letter isn’t that long, but he greedily takes in the page of Byleth’s handwriting.

_Claude_, she begins. _In the morning we march on Fhirdiad to retake the Kingdom capital._

“My lord!”

The shout startles him.

“What?” He snaps, glaring at the new arrival to the archery grounds, trying not to crumple the letter in his hand.

“The Empire,” the man gasps, and Claude realises he’s completely out of breath, and has possibly been running around the Riegan estate trying to find him. “They march on Leicester. Their army gathers south in Ordelia. The town is already under their subjugation.”

Claude’s blood freezes. This is probably the only thing worth pulling his attention away from Byleth’s letter for. His worst case scenario has happened, and quicker than he could have expected. He’s sent a message to Almyra already, but if Edelgard is intent on moving quickly, any support from the east will arrive too late.

He sees Hilda approaching, Marianne by her side, worry on both of their faces.

“I haven’t heard from Holst,” Hilda starts. Her brother is back in Goneril territory. Raphael and Ignatz have returned to their village, as has Leonie. All of them intent on protecting their homes. Only Judith is here.

Lysithea is in Ordelia.

_Shit_.

Clenching his jaw, Claude pulls tight the various threads of his anger and frustration and tucks Byleth’s letter carefully away in a pocket. He’ll read it later, when next he has a moment to himself.

He turns to the scout. “Tell me everything we know.”

.

_Claude_.

_In the morning we march on Fhirdiad to retake the Kingdom capital._

Night has fallen by the time Claude finally gets to read Byleth’s letter. It’s burned a hole in his pocket all day. Now he sits hunched over his desk in his office, finally alone, finally with nothing else to do right now in preparation against the Empire army.

It’s not like there’s that much they _can_ do. At least the invasion has finally rallied all the nobles to his side. Who knew all it took would be an army marching in to do it.

Claude tries not to be bitter.

He’d checked the handwriting against Byleth’s signature on the other messages he’d received from the Kingdom. Even though he already knew he could trust this letter, it had been good see that the writing matched. He couldn’t bear to believe and have something that feels close to hope snuffed out because he wasn’t careful enough to stay on his toes.

But this letter is from Byleth. He does not doubt it.

_I’m sorry we didn’t get to speak more when last we met. It’s not how I imagined seeing you again._

Claude wonders, with a painful twist in his chest, how Byleth did imagine it. Certainly not across a battlefield.

No one could have imagined Gronder.

_I know it must sound unbelievable, but I was telling the truth when I said I had been sleeping for the last five years. I woke up the day before the Millennium Festival and hadn’t realised how much time had passed. To me, our time at Garreg Mach only feels like months ago, not years. _

Grief spears through Claude, because he believes her. Maybe he’s a fool, but she kept her word at Gronder. Whatever else has happened, he can still believe that Byleth isn’t a liar.

And that means, for her, what happened back then is still so recent. And Claude’s not just considering himself in that – Jeralt’s death, Edelgard’s betrayal. All of it.

And that means, _shit_, that means more than Claude can process. That means she lost five years, and suddenly, over night, her world went to ruin.

Right after that sentence are ink splotches, like she’d placed the quill down for a second to start a sentence but hadn’t known what to write. He wonders if she’d paused for a long time when writing, trying to find the words. If these next words were a struggle for her to write.

_I wanted to contact you but as I learned the political situation in Fódlan, I thought it might not be wise. They’ve made me acting Archbishop in Rhea’s absence and the Church is officially allied with Faerghus. Given Leicester’s neutral stance, I feared contacting you would jeopardise that position. But if I’m being completely truthful I feared a message from me wouldn’t be welcome. I’m sorry I didn’t keep our promise, and that I wasn’t here. _

The next bit has been scribbled out so thoroughly Claude isn’t able to even begin to decipher what it might have said.

_It would have been welcome_, Claude thinks. He waited so long, so desperately to hear something from her. It stings that she didn’t contact him, but he knows that goes both ways. She thought he had changed after five years and might not want to hear from him, and well… he’d thought along similar lines.

He swears under his breath in Almyran, annoyed with everything, including himself.

Her next few lines after the blotted out words are about Dimitri, and Claude forces himself to quell the even bigger ball of irritation at the sight of the prince’s name. He can’t help but feel this would all be different – _better_ – if Teach had never had anything to do with Dimitri, and had chosen his house instead. That same old irritant that continued to annoy him, despite all the other ways he’d grown.

_Why do you keep choosing him over me? _

But he forces the irritation away, because he knows that not only has been Dimitri been through a hell of his own over the last five years, but that his state of mind is important to Claude’s plans – and to Fódlan.

_Dimitri is doing better_, Byleth writes. _Rodrigue’s death hit him hard, as it did everyone, but it was the wake up call he needed. It wasn’t long before he decided his previous course of action had been wrong, and that it was time to help the people of Faerghus. I hope the next news we send you will be of the liberation of Fhirdiad. Dimitri hopes in future to make amends to the Alliance for what happened at Gronder._

Gronder. The misery of that battle is still fresh on everyones minds.

_We still suspect that Lady Rhea is being held at Enbarr, if she is still alive, but retaking Fhirdiad first will put us in a better position to march on the capital._

Ah, yes, Lady Rhea. Claude’s lip curls in distaste. The one thing that had given Dimitri’s choice to march to Enbarr before his own capital a shred of legitimacy had been the possibility of finding Rhea. He knows now that Rhea hadn’t been a consideration at all for Dimitri, although it must have been for Seteth and the Knights of Seiros.

He continues to wonder how Byleth feels being made interim Archbishop, and still suspects she doesn’t like it, although her letter states nothing either way.

Byleth finishes the letter with two simple lines that guts Claude to his core.

_I miss you, Claude. I hope that one day you’ll be able to call me your friend again._

He carefully folds the letter and tucks it away, before letting his elbows rest on his knees. He stares into the fire that’s burning low, conflicted between his overwhelming desire to trust Byleth and his still lingering suspicion and anger.

Why is it so hard for him to accept this thing he’s wanted for five years? She’s _here_, and she’s reaching out to him.

A commotion in the hallway outside his office makes him immediately on alert. Grabbing his axe, he stands and strides towards the door, ready to defend himself. But it bursts open before he gets there and he lowers his weapon immediately.

“Lysithea!”

She stumbles forward, falling. Claude catches her before she can hit the floor, and carries her over to one of the sofas, calling for the guard at her back to go get her some food and drink, as well as to alert the others.

Lysithea looks pale. She’s shaking slightly, eyes wide and large as she looks up at Claude. But she’s still as stubborn as ever, because she says to him in an irritated manner, “I’m fine Claude, don’t fuss.”

She sounds breathless, and Claude resists the urge to argue with her. “What’s happened?”

Taking a deep breath, Lyisthea’s eyes dart behind him as Judith, Hilda and Marianne enter the room. Marianne immediately makes a beeline for Lysithea to check her over, and Lyisthea lets her work without complaining. “Lord Arundel is leading the Empire army after Edelgard was injured at Gronder. They’re already marching on Derdriu.”

It’s sooner than Claude has expected. There’s no chance of Almyran backup coming in time. There’s no chance to–

“How was it in Ordelia?” Judith asks.

“Bad,” Lysithea responds with a shake of her head. “We followed your orders, Claude, we let them invade. It would have been worse if we fought back.” Her lower lip trembles before she steels herself again. “Arundel is dangerous, and his army is large. I had to get here before they did.”

“You used a lot of magic, didn’t you?” Marianne asks.

“It was necessary.”

Hilda frowns. “Did you fight?”

Shaking her head again, Lysithea responds. “No, I warped away. I felt bad to leave the others but I couldn’t do anything to help them there.” She looks up at Claude again. “Once they’ve taken Derdriu they plan to take all of Leicester, do what they’ve done to the Kingdom. Then they’ll go after Dimitri.”

“They’ll be able to do it,” Claude says grimly. “All of our army is here. The rest of the country is defenceless.” It’s why he’d sent out the order not to resist the invaders. They’d be crushed. At least by not fighting today, the people of Leicester would survive to hopefully fight another.

His mind is whirling. There aren’t many options left to him.

He thinks of Byleth’s letter. Of the news that Dimitri is somewhat back to normal. He calculates how long Derdiu can hold out under siege. He works out how long it takes to get to Derdriu from the south borders of Leicester, and from Fhirdiad.

At his back is the sea, and the considerable number of ships that are always there. How many? Enough to evacuate the city?

“Boy!” Judith’s voice rings out, and Claude realises that he’s been ignoring the conversation going on around him. “You’re being quiet.”

He straightens up and turns to her with a steely look. “Don’t call me boy. I have a letter to write.”

“To who?” Hilda asks.

“To the king of Faerghus,” he responds, almost flippantly.

Judith is unimpressed. “The mad king of Faerghus, _Leader Man_?”

“I have it on good authority that he’s doing better these days.” He sits at his desk, dragging out a fresh piece of parchment and immediately begins writing.

“From who, exactly?” Judith’s tone remains flat.

“Oh, it must be the Professor.” Claude doesn’t need to look up to know that Hilda has a small smile on her face. She’d been initially distrusting of the Professor at Gronder, but after Byleth had kept her word she’d begun to soften. When they’d heard how she’d spoken to Ignatz and Raphael when they all know she could have killed them, her distrust seemed to have disappeared, although she’s still upset over Lorenz’s death. But Hilda had fought against friends at Gronder too.

“She sent me a letter.” Claude admits with difficulty. The letter and its contents are still so new and precious, and he hasn’t had time to fully take it in and what it might mean. He isn’t really ready to share it with the others, but he knows he must.

“Let me see it,” Judith demands.

“No.” He pauses to look up at her. “It’s personal.”

Judith’s eyebrows raise in question but she doesn’t push it, and Claude goes back to writing.

“Do you really think they’ll help us?” Lyisthea is looking a bit better now that she’s had a chance to rest. A servant bustles in with cakes and tea and she immediately begins helping herself to some. Claude knows that will also help revive her spirits.

He considers her question for a long moment, working through all the variables. “Yes,” he eventually answers with confidence. _Yes_. He can see how this will work, but he knows it will be close. It is, however, the only path left to them. “Right now, they’re marching on Fhirdiad to retake it. Once they do, their numbers will be strengthened and they’ll be able to help. But he have to prepare Derdriu for the arrival of the Empire. If the battle at Fhirdiad drags out, it might be some time before they can make it here.”

Judith sighs. “You’re risking a lot. They might not help.”

“They will.”

“We have to ask them,” Marianne says. “There’s no one else.”

She’s only partially right. Claude thinks of the letter he’s sent to Almyra. Providing it makes it across the border safe, it would still take weeks before any assistance arrived. If any did. He knows it’s not guaranteed. If they barricaded Derdriu and forced a siege, the city wouldn’t be able to hold out that long, especially because they’ll have to let the invaders take the docks so they can seal off the city. Their food supply will be cut off. Meanwhile, the rest of the Alliance is left defenceless. The Empire could maraud across the country and no one could stop them.

No, he won’t seal off the city and let the Empire settle in for a siege, giving them the rested advantage when the Kingdom army comes. He’ll get the citizens out, onto their ships in the sea, and let those invaders in. Trap them in the streets of the city.

Byleth will help the Alliance.

She _will_.

And then the Empire will be caught from both sides – Alliance at their front, Kingdom at their backs.

Claude trusts her. And he knows that she’ll convince Dimitri to help if he has reservations.

He just hopes they can make it in time.

He finishes his letter, quickly sealing it and standing up. There are preparations to be made. Claude will do everything he can to keep as many people safe as possible.

But first he needs to send this letter. Only this will save them all.

.

.

As they approach Fhirdiad, the news reaches the Kingdom army that the citizens are rebelling against the Empire occupiers. The people have heard of Dimitri’s return, and they’re rising up, knowing that soon they’ll have support. It bolsters them all, and spurs them on.

Byleth watches with a sense of relieved pride as Dimitri addresses his troops. Clear eyed and intent, full of strength and righteousness. It’s a far cry from Gronder.

“_It is time to take back our home!_”

Guilt over Rodrigue’s death still pricks at her, as it always will, especially whenever she sees Felix. She can only hope she’ll never be in a situation like that again. She is not a Goddess, and she’s not built to handle having the powers of one. Will the ghosts of the people she let die – Rodrigue, Lorenz, Ferdinand, and all the rest – will they haunt her like Dimitri’s ghosts?

Fhirdiad looms large, a city she’s not seen for years. She and her father had been here with his mercenaries for work several times. But it means nothing to her, like any of the other places she’d visited as she grew up.

But Fhirdiad means everything to so much of their army.

So she takes a deep breath and puts all thoughts of ghosts and regrets out of her head. She’ll fight with everything she has to give these people back their home.

.

Byleth is near Dimitri as he faces Cornelia. She hears the way she taunts Dimitri, telling him that his stepmother was responsible for the death of his father, and the tragedy of Duscur.

Her eyes meet Dedue’s as she fells another Dukedom solider.

“Can that be true?” She asks, stepping closer to him.

“I do not know, Professor,” he replies, watching as Dimitri kills Cornelia, concern clear on his face. “I have often thought we will never know the true extent of what happened at Duscur.” He turns back to her. “I am more worried about his Highness.”

It’s a worry Byleth shares, as they wonder how fragile Dimitri might still be.

So she’s surprised and pleased to see that their worry seems to have been misplaced. Dimitri is angry, but he recognises that Cornelia was an enemy of the Kingdom. Still, he vows to Dedue he will continue to investigate the tragedy and hopefully prove the innocence of the people of Duscur.

.

The people of Fhirdiad rejoice in the return of their king, crowding around the palace to see him. When Dimitri appears, the cheers are deafening as they celebrate their liberation, and a hope for the future.

From back in the shadows, Byleth watches. She’s never understood the adulation of royalty, or people like Rhea, even if she understands that people need a leader, a beacon of hope.

Perhaps it’s because she knows Dimitri too well. She’s seen him at his worst. Oh, she had no doubt that he’ll be a good king, if he continues as he is. But Byleth can revere no one like this.

Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve had a Goddess in your head.

Or maybe people are just people, and Byleth is too aware of how people look at _her_ like she’s some kind of icon. A new Rhea for them all.

She hates it.

“Sickening, isn’t it?” Felix materialises by her side, scowl on his face.

_A little_, she’s tempted to agree, but instead she says, “These people have been ground under the heel of the Empire for five years. This is like a miracle to them.”

“I suppose,” he grouses. “I abhor the veneration of unworthy individuals.”

Again, Byleth can’t disagree, but… “You think Dimitri is unworthy?”

His eyes cut briefly to hers before he looks away again. “He has not yet proven he _is_ worthy.”

Byleth is silent at that. She’s not going to pretend she understands the complicated friendship –if it can be called that – between Felix and Dimitri. Felix won’t be the only one with doubts, despite this display of public support. Dimitri _will_ have to prove himself worthy.

“How are you, Felix?” She asks, and is not surprised when his eyes narrow and shoulders tense up.

“I’m tired of people asking me that,” he snaps. It makes Byleth bristle slightly because no one ever seems to ask _her_ for any genuine reason, and perhaps he should be grateful that people _care_. But then something in Felix seems to soften, like he just had to get out the biting comment before he could actually answer. “I’m fine.”

Byleth nods, relaxing slightly, and not entirely believing him. “I miss my father,” she says softly.

“I…” Felix trails off. “I’m still too angry at him, to miss him.”

Glancing at his sharp profile, she swallows down the urge to tell him what she’d done and apologise for it. She doubts it would help anything.

“I suppose some day I will,” he goes on. Then he sours again. “He would have loved this, watching that boar greet the people of Fhirdiad like this. He always looked forward to the day when Dimitri would take his crown.”

Sylvain approaches them with an easy smile that turns wider as he looks at Felix. He rests an arm across Felix’s shoulder. It’s not lost on Byleth that while Felix’s scowls about being manhandled, he also leans right into Sylvain’s touch. It’s clearly also not lost on Sylvain, who looks delighted.

“They’re already planning a great celebration feast for tonight, Professor. We might even eat something other than miserable stew for once.”

Felix grumbles in reply, and Byleth watches them both. She remembers when Sylvain died, and the almost inhuman noise of grief Felix had made.

Whatever mistakes she may have made with the Divine Pulse, she can at least know that’s some good has come of her power.

.

Byleth stands the feast for as long as she can, face strained from fake smiling at people who keep calling her Archbishop.

Which is to say – she cannot stand it long at all. She feels eyes on her as she leaves, and notices Seteth’s disapproving look. Byleth already can hear his voice reprimanding her. “_It is your duty as head of the Church to be present at such functions._”

The sooner they find Rhea, the better. Byleth is tired of having to pretend that she gives a damn about the Church. They deserve someone better to lead them, someone who actually _believes_.

Fhirdiad is bitingly cold, but it’s a relief after the stifling, crowded banquet.

Byleth isn’t alone for long before Dimitri finds her, and she automatically tenses up as he sits beside her on a bench, looking out over the gardens of Fhirdiad’s palace. Even now, there’s a part of her still expecting hurtful words and threats from him. She thinks it will be a while before her guard fully lowers around Dimitri again.

But she manages to relax a little, and they spend some time talking, about the past, the future. Or at least, Dimitri and Faerghus’s future. Byleth’s own future is something she can’t contemplate right now.

Dimitri is eventually called back to the feast, and Byleth is relieved no one is looking for her. She stays for some time, sitting out in the cold, enjoying the silence. By the time she makes her way to her room, she’s exhausted. But even with the comfortable bed, she can’t fall asleep. There’s still so much to be done before they can march on Enbarr and face Edelgard.

But it’s not just thoughts of the battles ahead that keep her awake. Now, tired and alone with her thoughts, she wonders if it was wise to send a letter to Claude at all. She hates these doubts and uncertainties, this constant ache in her chest. A part of her wishes she could return to being the emotionless Ashen Demon she’d been before coming to Garreg Mach.

It would be so much easier.

She’s glad the tide is turning in favour of Faerghus, but she feels no joy.

The sun is rising by the time she eventually falls into a restless sleep.

It’s not long afterwards that a heavy banging on the door has her leaping out of bed, sword in hand.

But it’s just a solider, panting and breathless, with news that they’ve received an urgent message from the leader of the Alliance.

.

The celebrations at Fhirdiad are cut short. Weary though they might be at the prospect of marching again so soon, there’s no time for rest. While Dimitri had readily agreed to help the Alliance against the invading Empire, not wanting the people of Derdriu to suffer like Fhirdiad, he also knows that if the Alliance falls, it would put the Kingdom right back into a precarious position. They can’t allow the Empire to take Leicester.

Dimitri has not spoken to her of Claude since that night not long after Gronder. Byleth is grateful for that. Especially now after the letter she’d sent. It’s not something she really wants to have to explain to him.

And as for the letter, she doesn’t read anything into the lack of reply to it – the message informing them of the pending invasion and a request for aid had obviously been quickly written. But to know she’ll be seeing Claude again soon, and that once they’ve saved him – because they _will_ save him – has warmth spreading through her at the simple thought that finally they will just be able to _talk_.

.

The Empire reaches Derdriu before them. The Kingdom and Church leaders assemble on a hill just outside the city, discussing the report they’ve just received from a scout.

Dimitri’s eyes are calculating as he looks out over the city, the distant sounds of battle reaching them even here. Byleth guesses his thoughts are running similar to hers.

He shakes his head when Ingrid laments that the Alliance has been backed into such a corner.

“It is not so. The Alliance has only drawn the enemy so deeply into the city to allows us to attack them from behind. Brilliant.”

“A pincer attack,” Byleth murmurs staring straight ahead.

_He trusted we’d come._

“Yes. Claude put his soldiers into position purely on the belief that we’d come… I can’t believe he’d risk everything on that belief.” Byleth feels Dimitri’s gaze on her as he speaks. “He has placed all of his hopes on us.”

From behind her, Felix scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself. He always trusted the Professor, not you.”

Dimitri nods slowly, no doubt thinking of Claude’s trust in her back at Gronder too. “Yes, you are right.” He turns back to face the others. “But still, he depends on us all. Let us meet his expectations.”

He moves away, giving orders, and Byleth rests her hand on her sword, eyes scanning the city and the docks. She can see fighting going on in a wide plaza, and in the skies there are wyverns and pegasus locked in battle, and she wonders where in this mess Claude could be.

Behind her, the Kingdom army starts to move, and so too does Byleth.

Time to go find Claude.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost 10k of Reunion at <s>Dawn</s> Derdriu.

Once again, Byleth and Claude meet across a battlefield – but unlike Gronder, this time they’re on the same side.

Like Gronder, however, they still have to fight for it.

.

As they approach the outskirts of Derdriu, the Kingdom army quickly take stock of the battlefield. A pegasus scout informs Byleth and Dimitri that Claude has made himself an obvious target on his wyvern, but that he’s sitting some distance away in an area only accessible by a bridge that’s being defended by Hilda and a battalion. While Hilda stands, the enemy foot soldiers can’t reach him, and Claude has surrounded himself with enough archers to keep the enemy fliers at bay.

What’s worrying is that it’s clear the fighting has been going on for some time. There’s only so long they can hold up against the Empire, and Byleth knows they need to put Claude's plan into action and get to them immediately. She sends their own fliers to help Claude and Hilda, led by Ingrid and Seteth, as she and the other foot soldiers won’t make it in time.

What they can do is help the Alliance soldiers in the city as they work their way through the streets, cutting off the Empire reinforcements as they do so. Along the way, they find the legendary hero of House Daphnel herself, Judith, who casts her gaze over Byleth and Dimitri with a critical and appraising eye, but says little.

Real introductions will have to wait.

.

“We must find Arundel!” Dimitri calls to her, and Byleth nods in reply. They’ve lost track of the Empire’s general, and with their fliers engaged elsewhere they have no eyes to get a better picture of the battlefield. It’s also a disadvantage of fighting in a city. Many of the buildings are tall, and now that they’ve moved out of the wide plaza they’d found Judith in, the streets are narrow and winding. They only have seconds to react when enemy forces turn a corner and bombard them.

Having Judith with them helps, because she knows the city layout well, and as they move in the direction of the bridge Hilda is guarding, Byleth suspects they’ll find Arundel also heading to the same place.

Her instincts are correct – they find the Empire general bearing down on the soldiers defending the bridge, casting dark magic that reminds Byleth all too much of the magic that had sent her to that place of darkness, from which only Sothis’s power had saved her. She sees the attack knock out a couple of their pegasus riders as well some of the Alliance soldiers.

She sees Hilda fall to one knee, axe dropping to the ground beside her, and struggle to get back up.

Byleth is _not_ going to let her die here.

This time, at least, there are no awful choices to make. She doesn’t even need to use the Divine Pulse. The Kingdom cavalry charges forward, distracting Arundel and the Empire soldiers. She lets Dimitri press in on Arundel, with Dedue and Felix at his back, while she goes to Hilda.

As Byleth helps her up, Hilda huffs. “_Finally_. I’m getting tired.”

She does look tired, but not seriously injured, and Byleth wonders how long she’s been here, making sure no one can get past her to Claude.

Judging from the amount of bodies lying around, too long.

Behind Byleth, Arundel dies, and a cheer goes up from Kingdom and Alliance soldiers both.

Hilda turns and raises a hand just as a white wyvern rises from across the bridge and from the back of it, Claude waves back.

Byleth swallows hard and forces her attention back to Hilda. “Leave the rest to us, Hilda. Our soldiers are fresher, and with their general dead, the Empire won’t have much appetite left.”

To her surprise, Hilda looks like she might argue, but then she looks around at her battalion and sees their clear exhaustion. “Sure thing, Professor.” She heaves her axe over her shoulder. “Don’t work too hard!” She leaves with her soliders, along with some of the injured Faerghus troops, heading north, deeper into the city where the fighting hasn't reached – and won't, now that they've won.

She’s hardly left when a whoosh of air blows Byleth’s hair into her face. Brushing it aside, she steps back in surprise when she’s faced with a very large wyvern, who turns its head to the side and regards her with sharp eyes.

“Hey Teach,” Claude calls out, far warmer than the last time she’d seen him, a smile playing on his lips. “Good to see you.”

As Byleth lifts her gaze from the wyvern, she can’t help but smile back. “You too, Claude. Are you alright?”

The smile dims slightly as he looks around. They’ve fought back the Empire today, but as with any battle, people have died. It could have been much worse, but Derdriu has suffered. Even wins come with casualties. “You know me, Teach.”

She can’t help but wonder if she _does_, but this Claude is far more like the Claude she remembers. “That’s not an answer.”

“Stern as ever,” he replies, eyes going soft, and Byleth doesn’t know if she’s just seeing and hearing what she wants, but she swears he says it fondly. “I promise I’ll give you a real one after. For now, we should clean up this mess.”

“After?” She asks in hardly more than a whisper because she’s immediately thrown back to the last real conversation they’d had, right after they’d kissed and promised that _after_ they would talk about it.

He nods, face serious, and she knows his words were deliberate. “After. I think it’s overdue, don’t you?”

With that, the sounds of battle nearby draws their attention, as the last of Empire army makes a desperate last stand.

With a final heavy look, Claude takes off to lend his support, and Byleth turns her attention to the same issue. But she keeps seeing him out of the corner of her eye on his white wyvern, expertly taking out enemies with his bow – a glowing Relic he hadn’t had as a student.

After.

_After_.

She looses the Sword of the Creator on a solider that makes the mistake of thinking she’d be an easy target, and refocuses on the battle. It's time to end this quickly.

.

With Arundel dead, it’s not long before the Empire soldiers surrender or retreat, although both Kingdom and Alliance soldiers take the time to work their way through the streets and make sure the city is safe for the people to return.

At some point she loses track of Claude – she’s not quite sure how, as he seems to be the only person with a white wyvern. He cuts a distinguished figure on it. And off it too, she can admit to herself. He’s obviously grown a lot in the last five years.

But she doesn’t worry that she can’t see him – she’ll trust him as he trusts her. Or, well, as he seems to trust her. She can only hope. Instead, Byleth focuses on helping the injured back to the camp the the Kingdom are setting up just outside of Derdriu, where their healers are waiting. She can already see both Faerghus and Alliance soldiers working together, and is relieved to think that Gronder hasn’t ruined any chance of friendship between the two countries.

She meanders through the camp until she spies Dimitri, always visible from a distance. And with him is Claude. The two are talking under a canopy set up beside the Blaiddyd banner, blowing proudly in the wind. There are a number of other people around – Dedue, Gilbert, Seteth, and some other people she assumes are Alliance nobles.

Pausing at the edge of the canopy, she takes a selfish moment and finally, _really_ looks at Claude. She’d noticed the differences in him immediately at Gronder, but she hadn’t really had the chance to take it in.

Her mouth goes dry. Claude had always been handsome, but now he’s devastating.

It's Claude who notices her first, perhaps sensing her staring. His face brightens as he straightens up to greet her. “Hey, Teach.”

“Professor.” Dimitri looks between the two of them, something flashing across his face as he takes in their expressions. He clears his throat. “I was just telling Claude how reckless it was to risk the fate of Derdriu on us.”

“And I was just telling his Princeliness that I had complete faith that you’d come to our aid.” He’s looking directly at Byleth as he speaks.

It’s not lost on Dimitri, who frowns. “Yes, well. Be that as it may–“

“And,” Claude goes on, speaking over him, “I sent that messenger before I even knew if you had liberated Fhirdiard. As I said, complete faith.”

“Well. That’s very… flattering.” A flash of irritation crosses Dimitri’s face and Byleth feels a little bad, because Claude is almost acting like Dimitri is invisible. Dimitri pulls himself together well, although a small bite remains in his voice. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re stepping down.”

“What?” Byleth’s voice comes out sharper than she intends, but Dimitri’s words have sent a cold shock through her. She doesn't have the strength to pretend and remember Seteth's diplomacy lessons right now.

“Ah.” Claude rubs the back of his neck. “I’m stepping down as leader of the Alliance. In fact, as of today, the Leicester Alliance is no more.”

“I’m still not sure if he’s joking or not,” Dimitri mutters.

Claude shoots him a sharp look, and Byleth knows Claude’s being serious but she can’t even begin to imagine why.

“I’m not joking. The Alliance lords will follow you, Dimitri. You’ve proven today that you’re _worth_ following. Anyway, the Alliance used to be part of the Kingdom. I’m just putting us back together again.”

Byleth frowns, mind whirling as she tries to figure out why Claude is doing this. If he no longer wants to stand as the reigning Duke, there are others who can step in without dissolving the Alliance. What is gained by merging the two countries together?

_A union_, she thinks.

“It’s been discussed.” Claude waves a vague hand at the Alliance nobles standing nearby, who are all obviously trying to listen in on the conversation while attempting to look nonchalant. “All that’s really left is for me to officially step down as the leader of the Alliance.”

She shakes her head. “Why, Claude?”

He lowers his voice, so the only people who can hear him are Byleth and Dimitri. “You know I have my dream, Byleth. Becoming the leader of the Alliance was only a stepping stone to that. And now, I’ve done all I can, and I leave it in capable hands. I have to turn my attention elsewhere.”

Dimitri asks him something else, but Byleth tunes him out as she remembers all Claude told her – and _didn_'t tell her, leaving her to read between the lines – because the way Claude is talking almost sounds as if…

“You’re leaving.” She states it bluntly, already knowing it to be true. 

Claude’s calm facade seems to crack. “Well. Yes, but not–“

_He’s leaving._

It hits Byleth like a physical blow, making her breath catch. She struggles to swallow past the lump in her throat, feeling like she’s suddenly been plunged into ice cold water and her body can’t deal with the shock.

For a moment, the voices around her blur as Dimitri interrupts Claude, and she has to make the effort to steady herself, to push aside the fact that her heart is breaking.

How unfair, that her unbeating heart could still break.

Is this what Claude meant by _after_? This conversation, in which he throws more responsibilities at them and then _leaves_. Has she been a fool to get her hopes up?

“_Leaving_? Why, Claude?” Dimitri’s voice has a tremor of anger in it, one that reminds her too much of how he’d been before Gronder. One that makes her sick of everything. “The Professor is here. Why would you leave?”

Byleth briefly squeezes her eyes shut, not wanting to see the expression on anyone’s face at that comment.

“I’d really rather speak to her about that.” Claude’s voice gathers an edge, sharp and precise, but Byleth still can’t look at him.

She’s has had her moments of grief and weakness since she’d woken up. She’s kept them to herself, knowing she didn’t have the privilege to show them, not when everyone needed her. And at least they remind her that she's human, despite what Rhea did to her, and despite having powers that belonged in the hands of a goddess. But she’d never let herself really feel bitter or angry, at least not for long.

Until now.

The chasm of loneliness in her cracks further open.

Claude’s _leaving_. Back to where he came from. He’d never told her where that might be, but it’s clearly not Fódlan. And while she can make an educated guess on where it might be, it appears a guess is what she'll have to live with because he's clearly not going to tell them now, either. A guess is all she'll have, when she really has no idea where he is.

She’d sent him that letter, hoping to explain herself and hoping he’d be open to just talking with her.

But he’s leaving. Is that it? Does he care so little that this conversation is all that she’ll get?

Has she been a pathetic fool to expect anything more, after five years? Of course his interests are elsewhere.

They’re still at war, and he’s merging the Leicester Alliance back into the Kingdom, and leaving. He’s dumping all this in their hands.

What the _fuck_?

Her eyes snap to Claude’s and she realises he’s been watching her, concern on his face.

Byleth clenches her fists. She can’t do this. She can’t stand here with an audience and listen to this. It's startling to realise that this is hurting her more than anything Dimitri has ever done. And maybe Claude doesn’t even know or care that he’s hurting her, but in this moment she's sick of all of them – Claude, Dimitri, Seteth. Sick of herself, probably, too, for letting it get to her this much. 

Not for the first time she thinks about everything would be easier if she could still be how she was before she'd ever come to the monastery in the first place.

So she just turns and marches away, not even caring where she’s going or what it might look like to the assembled leaders she’s walking away from. It might cause some comment but she’s had enough of everything.

She needs a break.

.

Dimitri clears his throat awkwardly, his clear surprise at Byleth’s sudden departure managing to erode away his anger. “Please forgive the Professor, Claude. She’s been under a lot of stress recently.”

Claude side-eyes Dimitri. _No kidding._ Out loud he says, “No problem.”

There’s a silence and Claude takes the opportunity to evaluate Dimitri further. It’s hard to reconcile this man with the reports he’d received from Gronder, which had made him sound like an out of control beast. When Byleth had said Dimitri was doing better, she hadn’t lied. He thinks that between Dimitri and Teach, Fódlan will be in good hands.

He’s more concerned with the way Teach just looked at him, and he chastises himself for acting so nonchalant. The truth is that he’s not sure how to act around Teach, at least not in front of all these nobles and important people from both Leicester and Faerghus. He doesn’t want that scrutiny on them both. He wants to get her alone and explain some things. She deserves that.

Dimitri turns away from the others slightly and indicates to Claude that he’d like to walk. They step away from the crowd.

“Are you sure about this, Claude?” Dimitri asks.

“Yes,” he replies with certainty. “I have other dreams I want to fulfill. As I said, Fódlan was always a stepping stone towards that.”

Dimitri pauses and turns his eye on Claude, who thinks with some bemusement that Dimitri has gotten really intense over the last five years.

“I see,” Dimitri finally says and starts walking again. “But I don’t understand why it can’t wait. We could use your assistance in the war.”

Claude, determined to talk to Byleth about this before anyone else, remains evasive. “My assistance is giving you the Alliance and all its soldiers and resources. I have full confidence in you and Teach.”

Dimitri’s lips thin and Claude can tell he’s displeased about something. But he says nothing, instead just continuing to stalk the grounds of the camp. While everyone stops and gives a polite bow to Dimitri as he passes, no one interrupts them.

“C’mon, your Princeliness, what is it? Spit it out.” Claude considers his words. “I suppose I should say your Kingliness now, shouldn’t I?”

Once again Dimitri fixes him with that stare. “I do not agree with you leaving, although I cannot stop you.” He speaks so solemnly, completely ignoring Claude’s attempts at making the conversation lighter.

Dimitri probably _could_ stop him, if he truly wanted to. Claude had seen him battle at Derdriu. He’s obviously even stronger than he’d been five years ago, with a ruthless edge that seems at odd with his demeanour now. Dimitri could probably pick him up and snap him in two, if he wanted.

He’s relieved that’s not Dimitri’s style. At least not anymore, from what he’s heard.

“But…” Dimitri continues slowly, a creep of uncertainty coming into his voice. “The Professor cares for you. You would… you would leave her?”

This time it’s Claude cutting Dimitri with a look. He’d never gotten the impression that Byleth has confided in Dimitri, but obviously the prince has picked up on something if he’s asking this. So, smooth as butter, all he says is, “I rather speak to her about that.”

“Ah,” Dimitri rumbles, turning away. “Of course. I did not mean to pry.” He still looks like he wants to say something, but he keeps it to himself. _In true Faerghus fashion_, Claude thinks.

They walk for another few moments. Claude senses that Dimitri is lost in his thoughts.

“Is there truly no way I can convince you to remain?” Dimitri finally asks. “Once we defeat Edelgard we will need to rebuild, to shape the world into a better one than it was before.”

That makes Claude smile for real. “I think you’ll do alright with that. I’ll be doing something similar where I’m going, eventually.”

Dimitri sighs. “I see you are intent on remaining a mystery.”

“That’s just how it has to be right now,” he replies, smile edging into a smirk. But there’s something forlorn about Dimitri that makes Claude relent a little. “I do plan on talking to Teach, though. Don’t worry about that.”

Dimitri seems to approve of that. “Good. She… I have not been very kind to her since she returned.” His eye shifts away, somewhere distant. Claude knows he’s seeing something he can’t even imagine. “Even if you are set on leaving, I ask this of you: please be kind to her.”

The sincerity in his tone pulls Claude up from making a flippant reply. He’d never intended on being _unkind_ to her, but now he thinks of Byleth, how tired and worn she’d looked at Gronder, and the quiet sadness of her letter. The hurt look on her face just now and, shit, he’s _already_ been unkind. He hadn’t intended that – but there’s too much he wants to say to her and her alone, without an audience or interruptions or pressure or anything but just... them. Claude takes a deep breath, feelings he’d been trying to hard to keep walled up punching through as his desire to go find Byleth becomes almost overwhelming. “I will,” he promises.

Dimitri is still clearly struggling with something despite Claude’s promise. “She… she does not confide in me,” he finally admits. “I do not believe she confides in anyone.”

Claude remains silent, digesting this and letting Dimitri talk. As much as he wants to find Byleth, a large part of him is desperately curious about what's going on in Dimitri's head.

“I’m concerned for her.”

“And what,” Claude asks carefully, giving nothing of himself away, “do you expect me to do about it?” Something about the way Dimitri is talking bothers him. And as he looks at the expression on Dimitri's face, it hits him. He thinks back to their days at the Academy and how he'd sometimes teased Dimitri about having a crush on Edelgard – awkward, in hindsight – and he now knows that he'd been way off.

Claude hadn’t been the only one with a thing for Teach.

Dimitri scoffs, something bitter in it. “Nothing, I suppose, if you’re leaving. I just thought that you two were… close.”

Claude remains neutral in his replies, still feeling Dimitri out. “We might have been, five years ago.”

“But it’s not been five years for her.”

“No,” Claude agrees. “I know that now.”

Silence falls for a moment before Dimitri blurts out, “I want to do right by her.”

Claude stares, wondering what he means by that. But instead, needing to have his curiosity satisfied, he asks, “Did it bother you that we were close back at the Academy?”

Dimitri clenches his jaw and turns away. “Yes,” he admits, both shame and anger in his voice. “I was jealous. I wished she would look at me the way she looks at you.”

Claude’s heart thuds. His mouth opens to ask how she looks at him but Dimitri rushes on, obviously embarrassed by what he’s said. “I know I had no right to feel that way, and the Professor never favoured you in a way that made the Blue Lions feel slighted. And I… I do not feel that way now.”

Claude’s not sure if he believes that, but it appears that _Dimitri_ wants to be believe that, at least.

“I would like to be her friend,” Dimitri continues carefully, but there’s a weight to all the words he isn’t saying. “But that will take time. For now I have no one else to ask to help her but you.”

Before Claude can reply, Gilbert approaches them with a formal bow, which puts a halt to the conversation. “I apologise for the interruption, Your Highness, but there are some issues that require your attention.” He pauses. “Where is the Archbishop? We had hoped you’d gone to find her.”

Claude’s eye twitches at the title. It doesn’t suit Byleth. He turns away from them both, making a decision. “She’s busy. I trust you can carry on without her for a couple of hours.”

He doesn’t stay to see how they react to that.

.

Claude meanders through the camp, searching for Byleth, but he can’t find that distinctive mop of green hair anywhere.

“Oh! Claude!”

He turns in response to the voice calling his name, unable to place who it is until he sees them.

“Ashe.” He tilts his head, taking in how the other archer has changed in the last five years. “It’s good to see you alive.”

“You, too. I’m glad we were able to help you and the people of Derdriu.”

“Right, thanks,” Claude responds politely but he’s not in the mood for small talk. “Hey, I don’t want to be rude, but I really need to talk to Teach. Have you seen her?”

“The Professor?” Ashe’s eyebrows raise. “Yes. She’s sparring with Felix over on the west side of the camp.”

Claude spins on his heel to go in the direction Ashe indicated, but then turns back. “_Sparring_? Right after a battle?”

Ashe laughs. “I know. But you must remember what Felix is like.”

“…Right.” Claude did remember, but he thinks of how Byleth had looked just before she stormed off. He might be way off, but he has a sneaking suspicion that Felix isn’t the instigator of this.

He takes his leave of Ashe, hurrying now that he has a direction to work with. It doesn’t take him long to find Byleth. Like Ashe had said, she and Felix are sparring, circling each other a safe distance away from the tents and bustle of the camp.

Sylvain is lounging nearby, leaning against a tree. He’s at a safe distance to Felix and Byleth, and spots Claude immediately, raising a hand in welcome. Claude makes his way to Sylvain’s side, watching Byleth and Felix as he does so.

Just as he opens his mouth to greet Sylvain, he stops and stares as he realises that the two of them are using real swords. There’s an impressive amount of control on display, and it’s clear this session is being taken seriously by both. He winces as the swords clash.

Sylvain laughs lowly at his expression. “Hey, Claude. Good to see you.”

He wastes no time with pleasantries. “Training swords not good enough for the Kingdom?”

“Not for Felix Fraldarius. And Byleth Eisner, apparently, when she’s pissed. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Claude slides his gaze back to Sylvain, but the other man’s eyes remained trained on the fight in front of him. When Claude doesn’t answer, Sylvain folds his arms, but his tone remains deceptively nonchalant. “Because for the first time ever, she demanded Felix spar with her. She sounded so much like him, I was a little turned on. But it’s not like her.”

“No.” Claude chooses to ignore the _turned on_ comment. This is Sylvain, after all.

“So I assumed it had something to do with you, now that Dimitri is doing better and things are looking up.”

Claude’s not going to tell Sylvain anything. It’s not that he doesn’t like him, but he doesn’t know him. He hadn’t even known him five years ago – hardly surprising when Sylvain wears a mask as much as Claude. He'd recognised in Sylvain another person who had constructed a facade around themselves, and steered clear accordingly. There were too many other secrets at the Academy to discover. Sylvain's were never important to Claude because they could doubtlessly be explained the same way all the Blue Lion's issues could be explained: extremely dysfunctional families.

Not that he's one to judge, considering his own situation.

But he's still not going to talk to Sylvain. He doesn’t want to speak to _anyone_ but Byleth. 

“I’m here to talk to Teach,” is all he says, keeping the irritation out of his voice.

“I’d forgotten about that cute nickname you had for her. Not sure you still have any right to call her that, though.”

“Save it, Sylvain,” Claude warns, not in the mood. If Byleth wasn’t angrily swinging a sword at Felix right now he’d interrupt their sparring, but he doesn’t want to startle either of them and cause an injury. Unfortunately, the two of them seem evenly matched, so he’s not sure how long it’s going to take before they’re done.

“Nah, I don’t think I will. Not when all it seems to take is one conversation with you and she’s more upset than I’ve ever seen her.”

Claude turns fully to Sylvain, narrowing his eyes. “It’s funny that you’re being protective of her now. From what I hear, she really could have used that before Dimitri pulled himself together.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “You don’t know what happened, Claude.”

Claude is all too aware that he doesn’t know everything – it’s annoying to admit – but… “I know enough.” Byleth’s face at Gronder as she held up her hands and told him to strike her down if he truly thought she was an enemy floats up in his memory. She'd come to him alone. 

They lapse into a tense silence, watching the display in front of them. In another situation he would have appreciated it, because both Byleth and Felix are sword masters and incredible to watch. But he’s too tense, and impatient to speak to her, and even from here he can see the strain on her face. It’s obvious she hasn’t even rested since the battle.

When Byleth steps back from an attack and moves to circle Felix again, she spots Claude, and her eyes widen in surprise.

Her split second of hesitation is enough for Felix to rush and disarm her, sending her sword skittering across the hard ground.

Byleth’s eyes travel from her fallen weapon to the tip of Felix’s sword, which is pointed directly at her throat. “I yield,” she says grimly, voice carrying across the field.

It’s only at that does Felix sheath his sword and turn to see what distracted her. When he catches sight of Claude he huffs. “Of course,” he says, loud enough for them all to hear. He looks back at Byleth, chastising her. “You shouldn’t be so easily distracted.”

Byleth retrieves her sword, sheathing it and giving Felix a pointed look.

Felix ignores it and strolls over to Claude and Sylvain. “You’d better be here to talk to the Professor.”

“Nice to see you too, Felix,” Claude dryly replies.

Sylvain’s lips twitch at that. “C’mon Felix, let’s go get washed up before the inevitable celebrations tonight.” He leans into Felix, resting a hand at the small of his back. It’s enough to distract Felix from Claude, who just says, “Fine,” and takes off after a final glance at the Professor.

And Claude is finally, _mercifully_, left alone with her.

She hasn’t moved from where she’d picked up her sword, so Claude steps towards her. “Can we talk now?”

Byleth nods, but it’s clear she’s wary, and Claude feels a twist of anguish in his belly, annoyed at Dimitri for the way he’d told her that he was leaving. The flash of warmth he’d seen from her during the battle has disappeared. He needs to explain, and the overwhelming need to _tell her_ takes him by surprise.

He glances back at the loud, bustling camp, catching eyes with people who’ve stopped to stare, and then back to Byleth, still tired and dusty from battle and sparring.

He needs to tell her somewhere without an audience and a risk of being disturbed.

“How would you feel about going somewhere else?”

Her eyebrows raise. She’s still obviously wary. “Where?”

“Would you be offended if I said anywhere but here?”

Byleth’s gaze travels behind him, taking in the camp herself, no doubt noticing the people who are watching them, and to his immense relief, her lips twitch slightly. “No.”

That’s enough for Claude. He raises his fingers to his lips and lets out a shrill whistle. He knows it’s sure to make more people stop and stare, but that’s going to happen regardless if he wants to get out of here, because not a moment later his wyvern appears, flying low over the nearby trees. She lands near them, blowing up dirt, and settles her wings, clicking at Claude.

“This is Meissa,” Claude announces, moving close enough to brush his hand along the scales on Meissa’s head. She clicks affectionately at him, leaning her head into his touch.

When he sneaks a look at Byleth, he’s delighted to see her smiling as she watches the wyvern. A tiny smile, true, but better than nothing and far better than the apprehensive way she’d been looking at him a moment ago.

“Your carriage,” he says to her with his own smile as he makes a flourish towards Meissa.

Byleth ignores his theatrics and moves slowly towards him, raising her hand for the wyvern to sniff and touch. It’s not long before Meissa lowers her head so Byleth can pet her, and Claude grins.

“I’m not much of a flier,” Byleth murmurs, her eyes on Meissa.

“That’s alright,” he replies, heart racing. “I won’t let you fall.”

She briefly peeks up at him from under her eyelashes at that comment, but quickly drops her gaze again. “She’s very beautiful.”

Meissa croons in response, and Claude swallows back a whole mouthful of feelings as he watches the wyvern who is so protective of him happily accept Byleth. “She is.” He scratches Meissa’s neck, and she lets out a noise that tells him she’s loving the attention. “Meissa and I go way back.”

All the way back to Almyra.

Byleth smiles a little again at his words, and seems about to say something when she looks behind him and her smile drops.

Claude doesn’t turn. “I’m assuming we’ve gained an audience?”

She gives a short nod of her head.

“Does it bother you?” He has to ask.

Byleth’s lips thin. “No.”

Claude’s not certain that’s an entirely truthful answer but he lets it go. Maybe she’s just _trying_ to not let it bother her.

Her eyes find his. “Let’s go,” she says with decisiveness, in a way that hits Claude with a sudden onslaught of memories.

But he doesn’t let himself drown in them, instead nodding in reply, and before he can do anything, Byleth steps forward and puts her foot into the stirrups. Meissa lowers herself, and Byleth swings her leg over, settling onto the saddle.

Claude blinks at the rapid movement, a little disappointed because he’d been harbouring the idea of lifting Byleth onto Meissa himself. “You made that look easy for someone who’s not much of a flier.”

She gives him her deadpan look. “I have been riding horses since I was a child.”

He laughs. “Of course. I really shouldn’t underestimate you, should I?”

She looks away at that, down to her hands which are gripping the front of Meissa’s saddle. Claude braces himself to be in sudden, direct contact with her, and swings himself up easily onto the back of the wyvern behind Byleth.

Meissa’s saddle is wide and large, and he scoots back in it, giving them both as much room as possible, but it’s not much. Byleth’s back is still pressed against his chest, and the top of her head brushes against his chin, the hair tickling his skin. He takes a deep breath, trying not to think about how close she is, and leans forward to take up the reins, his arms on either side of her. He can feel Byleth tense against him and _fuck_, he’d known what he was doing by asking her to take a wyvern ride, but he really hadn’t been prepared for the reality of it, of her being so _close_.

Claude’s not sure whether to be relieved or annoyed that it’s just a short flight to where he’s planning to go.

Leaning back again, he flexes his thighs against Meissa and she straightens up, spreading her wings.

Claude wraps an arm around Byleth’s waist. “Is this okay?”

He feels her shaky breath and sees her nod. “It’s fine.”

He swallows. “Hold onto me if you need to.”

She nods again, and Claude tightens his grip as Meissa takes off. He’s more than used to riding a wyvern – it’s second nature to him, as easy as walking – but he knows it’s disconcerting for people who aren’t used to it, even if they are accomplished horse riders.

As they rise in the air, one of Byleth’s hands grasp onto the arm around her waist, fingers curling tight around his wrist, and all Claude wants to do is bury his face in her hair and turn his mouth to her ear and tell her…tell her _everything_.

He flies a little slower than usual, and Byleth’s death grip on his arm loosens, but she keeps her hand on him so he makes no move to remove his arm, as awkward as that makes flying. She even seems to relax against him and Claude can’t help but smile, exhilarated.

“You alright?” He calls out.

“Yes,” she shouts back over the wind, turning her head slightly to look at his face. Her eyes look brighter, and whether that’s to do with him or the flight he isn’t sure, but Claude is happy to see it.

He wonders if she can feel the thundering of his heart at her back.

.

The flight over Derdriu doesn’t take long, but Byleth enjoys it. The city itself hasn’t been too badly damaged by the battle, and not far away in the sea she can see ships full to the brim with the citizens being brought into the docks. Already some of them are stepping back onto dry ground, knowing that their city has been saved. Heads raise as the distinctive white wyvern flies overhead, and some people wave and cheer.

She wonders how they’ll feel when they find out Claude has stepped down.

The thought makes her feel cold again, despite Claude’s warmth at her back and his arm wrapped comfortingly around her waist. Her fingers holding onto him clench tighter, like she might be able to keep him close if only she could hold on tight enough.

If this is all she has – the next few minutes, maybe an hour, and then that’s it, if she's going to be wounded either way – she’ll enjoy it while it lasts. 

.

They land in the wyvern pen at the top of a tall tower, surrounded by lush gardens. Not far off is a grand building, and Byleth realises this is the Riegan estate. Claude's home.

Claude slides off Meissa first as Byleth looks around, looking and listening to all the wyverns as they greet their returning friend.

“Teach?” She turns her head to Claude, who has a hand extended to help her down. And then, softer, “My friend?”

Byleth feels a burning behind her eyes at his words, and at the gentle sincerity with which he says them. That’s what she’d told him she’d wanted, wasn’t it? For him to call her his friend again? As happy as it makes her to hear him say that, she can’t help but wonder if this will be the last time.

So she silently takes his hand and allows him to help her off the wyvern. Even when she’s back on steady ground he doesn’t let go of her, staring down at her with an intense expression.

She steps closer to him, like she’s drawn to his flame, tilting her head up.

When he speaks, his voice is a hoarse whisper. “I still can’t believe–“

“Duke Riegan!” A loud voice startles them both, and Byleth draws back as Claude drops her hand.

A man appears at the entrance to the pen. “I wasn’t expecting you back yet.” He strides forward, ignoring Byleth completely as he walks by both of them, straight to Meissa, who greets him warmly.

“Was she injured?” The man asks Claude sharply.

“No, no, she’s fine,” Claude responds with a laugh in his voice. The man gives a _hmph_ in reply and continues checking over Meissa, as if doubting Claude’s words. “I’m fine, too, thanks for asking.” His voice turns sarcastic. “The battle went well. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know we won’t be crushed under the Imperial boot.”

The man waves a hand dismissively at Claude as he checks Meissa’s wings.

Byleth stares at him, nonplussed even as she wonders what Claude had been about to say to her before the interruption. He huffs out a laugh. “This is our wyvern master. Great with wyverns, not so great with people.” The man in question entirely ignores Claude’s words, focused on Meissa.

Claude gestures towards the entrance and they both move in step outside, and down the winding stairs. They remain silent as they go, and Claude keeps sneaking glances at Byleth, who appears to be doing the same to him. He knows there’s a thousand things that require his immediate attention but he’s absolutely certain not one of them is as important as she is.

So when one of his aides approaches as they reach the main residence and opens his mouth, Claude stops him and says, “Unless the Empire is invading again, it can wait.”

The aide’s mouth falls open wider and then snaps shut. He glances between Claude and Byleth. “It’s just regarding the seating at the celebratory feast–“

Claude continues walking, catching Byleth’s hand in his, entirely thrilled when her fingers curl around his. Over his shoulder he calls out, “I trust your judgement.”

“But sir, etiquette demands–“

“I trust you!”

They continue on, with the spluttering aide soon left behind them. Claude keeps a brisk pace, taking long strides through the grand hallways of the place he still considers his grandfather's, not his. Byleth keeps up, sensing his impatience, feeling it herself. Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long before he turns and holds a door open for her. She walks in ahead of him, taking note of the lavish office, with a beautiful, ornate desk and the large windows behind it with views of the sea.

It’s a beautiful room, but she doesn’t care about any of that. Turning back to Claude, she watches him shut the door. He removes the impressive looking relic bow and his quiver from his back, stacking them in a stand at the side of the room before leaning against the wall and regarding her quietly.

“Claude–“ she begins, not even sure what she’s going to say.

“I’m not leaving yet.”

Her heart soars, flies, and falls all in the space of a second. She pulls the edges of her cloak around her, like it could somehow act as armour for this conversation, and summons her strength.

“What do you mean?”

“I meant what I said before. I came to Fódlan to help achieve my dream, but it’s always been one part of a bigger picture. The war meant I had to put that dream aside, but now–“

“The war’s not _over_, Claude,” she exclaims, angry again.

He remains calm in the face of her anger. “I know. That’s why I’m not leaving now. But I will, when it’s done.”

“Why did you bring me here to tell me that?” Her hands fist into the fabric of her cloak.

Claude pushes off the door and takes a step towards her. “Because it’s not just _that_.” He stops directly in front of her. “I got your letter.”

She stills, suddenly feeling embarrassed even though she knows she hadn’t put anything in that letter to be embarrassed about.

“I missed you, too,” Claude whispers, his eyes sad. “I looked for you. Maybe I should have looked harder.”

Byleth had never considered that he might have looked for her after the battle of Garreg Mach. It stuns her. "I didn’t know you looked for me.” She shakes her head. “I just thought everyone assumed I was dead. So, thank you, for at least trying.”

“I had to try. I missed you so much.” His voice is so quiet, like the words are hard to say, but she doesn’t doubt his sincerity. Then bitterness slips in. “If I’d kept looking, maybe you’d have found me before Dimitri.”

She sighs. On the face of it, a nice sentiment, but – “And then where would he, or the Kingdom, be?”

His face twists. “You do know he’s half in love with you, don’t you?”

_Nonsense_. Byleth rubs her forehead tiredly and turns away to sit on one of the couches. It suddenly occurs to her that she’s filthy – both from the rushed march to Derdriu and then the battle. At some point the exhaustion will hit her with full force, she knows, and she'll regret using Felix to work out her frustration with a duel.

She can’t bring herself to care that she’s getting dirt and dust on the fine Riegan couches.

Claude stays still, waiting for her response, so she takes a moment to think about it. It's not a way she's ever considered Dimitri, and she'd never thought he'd feel anything like that for her.

“I think I was the first person to show him kindness in years, after what happened in Fhirdiad, and I’m the one who helped him… get better…” She winces a little at the memory. She helped Rodrigue die so Dimitri could get better. “I suppose–“

He interrupts. “No, Byleth, even when we were students.”

She frowns at that. “I don’t think so.”

Claude’s laugh is incredulous. “You seriously didn’t notice?”

Byleth leans back, resting her head against the back of the couch and closing her eyes. It’s the most comfortable thing she’s sat on in days. She casts her mind back to Dimitri as a student – so polite, trying so hard. And now, she knows, a complete mess under it all. She’d spent a lot of time with him – she was head of his house after all – but while he’d been eager for her attention, she’d just put it down to that just being Dimitri being eager to please.

But then, what was it Felix had said? _He’s always been jealous of the time you spent with Claude._

She groans.

When she opens her eyes Claude has moved closer, face smooth as he regards her, his thoughts a mystery.

“Maybe,” she concedes.

“Do you feel the same way?” He asks, firing the question off like an arrow.

Her mouth pulls into an even deeper frown.

When he sees her expression, Claude continues, “I’m just asking because you work closely together and he clearly thinks you hang the stars in the sky. You’re still a little more difficult to read, Teach, and I’d like to know what kind of playing field I’m working with here.”

Byleth bites her tongue, hard, because she’s not entirely sure what to make of that last sentence, and also because she’d almost started complaining about Dimitri to Claude. Despite everything, that makes her feel a little guilty.

But Claude, for someone who has just said she’s difficult to read, seems to have picked up on her reticence. “_Please_, just tell me.”

She relents, mostly because of the pleading tone in his voice, and takes a deep breath and for the first time since she’d woken up, she tells someone her true feelings.

“No, I don’t feel that way about Dimitri. I’m not sure if I’ll ever entirely trust him again. And while I care for him, and want him to be okay and will continue to help him and try to be his friend, I’ll be glad when the war is over and I don’t have to spend every day around him.”

Claude’s eyebrows raise in alarm. “You don’t _trust_ him? Because I just handed him the Alliance and–“

“No,” she cuts him off, and as she speaks, the words tumble out faster and faster. “It’s nothing to do with that. I do think he’s on the right path and he’ll be a good king. He’s fair and he cares, and he wants to do better. He wants to make Fódlan better. But he spent the first months after I’d woken being cruel and awful to everyone, and I faced the brunt of it because every single one of them expected me to fix him. And I know he wants to make amends and that’s fine, but it’s hard not to be reminded of how he’d been every time I look at him.”

Claude digests this, the alarm on his face morphing into anger. “Did he hurt you?”

She almost wants to roll her eyes at that. “Not physically.” At least it had never come to that. Not only would Dimitri never be able to forgive himself that, but Byleth isn’t sure she would be able to, either.

The problem is that she’s almost certain it would have come to that, or that it very nearly did right before she’d turned back time and let Rodrigue die.

She’s glad no one else can remember what happens after she uses the Divine Pulse. The ugly memories are hard to bear, but it would be even worse if they all remembered.

“So, yes, then.”

Byleth straightens up and then leans forward onto her knees, letting her head drop between her shoulders, not denying Claude's conclusion.

She hears the rustle of fabric and then a soft thud, and suddenly Claude’s hand is on her face, tilting it up. He’s kneeling right in front of her, his face close. She can feel the calluses on his fingers as they brush over her cheek. There’s no artifice in his expression, only remorse.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have contacted you as soon as I found out you were back.”

His touch feels so good. Warm. Comforting and electric all at the same time. Like how it had before.

“No,” she says, the word a sigh as he cups her cheek. “We both know how complicated it all was.”

“You should never have had to do this _alone_.” Claude whispers it fiercely, shuffling forward to wrap his arms around her, and Byleth falls into the embrace, resting her forehead against his neck, tucked under chin, neither of them caring about the bits of armour and weapons poking into each other. She brings her own arms around his waist. The position is slightly awkward, but right now, for both of them, it’s perfect.

Eventually she asks a question that’s been plaguing her, although she’s certain of the answer. She remembers everything he’s ever told her, and it’s lead to an obvious conclusion. The words muffle against his collar. “You’ll be going back to Almyra, won’t you?”

Claude doesn’t seem to be surprised that she’s figured it out. His shoulders shake in a small laugh. “Nothing gets by you, Teach.” He draws back, leaving his hands on her shoulders. “Yes.” He takes a deep breath. “Would it surprise you if I told you I had connections to the Almyran royal family.” At her expression, he laughs again, but it almost seems self conscious to Byleth, and he looks like he’s gathering himself up to talk. “That’s a yes, then. My mother is from Fódlan, daughter of the previous Duke. That made me an outsider in Almyra as much as my Almyran blood makes me an outsider here.”

Now, Byleth can’t resist touching him, running her fingers over his neat beard, feeling the changes in him over the last five years. She thinks she feels a rough scar under her fingers, hidden by hair. When she brushes some of his hair, tousled from the flight, out his eyes, Claude sighs, leaning into her hand in a way that reminds her of how his wyvern had leaned into his own touch, not long ago.

“And your dream?” She’s fascinated at what he's telling her and how open he’s being. 

Claude’s eyes focus on her again. “I want to open up Fódlan, open up the Throat. Cut down the mountains that separate us.”

She blinks. “Ah.” Turning her head slightly, she looks down to the Sword of the Creator, still strapped by her side, glowing gently. She thinks of the legend surrounding the sword. “I’m not sure if you mean that literally or metaphorically.”

Claude is also looking at the sword. “Sometimes, I’m not sure either.”

“And that’s why you wanted to use me?”

He flinches, just slightly, at the question, but it’s a conversation they’ve had before. She’s not sure why it bothers him when she’s long since forgiven him. “I wanted your strength from the start. But… yes.” His hands leave her shoulders, and he rests back on his heels. Byleth begins to let her own hand fall before Claude takes it in his own, bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on the back of it.

Byleth’s breath catches. All of a sudden, it’s like every nerve in her body is attuned to where Claude’s lips press against her skin.

With fingers brushing over her knuckles, Claude’s looks up at Byleth from beneath his eyelids. “But you have to know that's not what this is. Tell me if I’m off base with this.” He ends his words with another kiss that sends butterflies through her stomach.

“No! You’re not,” she rushes out. “I just didn’t want to assume…”

“Assume what?” His relief at her answer makes him a little mischievous. He lowers her hand from his face, but doesn’t let go of her as he patiently waits for her to continue.

“I should never have kissed you when you were a student–“

Claude interjects. “I think I kissed you just as much.”

Outwardly she ignores that comment, but the deep tone of his voice makes her centre coil with pleasant anticipation as she remembers those kisses very well. But she needs to get her words out, very aware that her cheeks are heating up. “But I wanted you. I still do.”

His lips curl upwards. “Well that’s good, because I feel the same– _oof_!”

Claude’s words are cut off by Byleth launching herself at him. He falls onto his back against the plush carpet as she settles her knees at his sides, straddling him. He rolls with it, grabbing her hips and already reaching up to meet her lips with his as she lowers herself towards him.

There is no slow build up in this kiss. It’s immediately all teeth and tongue and Claude, on his part, is pouring five years worth of feelings into it. Byleth’s hands grasp at his shoulders, and he slides both of his up her body in a way he’s desired for what feels like forever to tangle them in her hair, angling her face to kiss her even deeper. She shifts against him and moans into his mouth and it makes the last few miserable years seem worthwhile, just to be able to get to this moment.

Is this the first thing he’s taken for himself since Garreg Mach fell? Is it the first thing _she’s_ taken for herself since she woke up?

He strongly suspects the answer to both of these questions is _yes_.

There’s so much else they need to talk about – _so_ much – but right now Claude is more than happy with this, and he guesses Byleth is too. So he just, for once, allows himself to feel and not have his mind racing through a thousand different scenarios. There’s just the feel of Byleth against him, warm and both hard and soft, and smelling of metal and leather. There’s the slide of her tongue against his, her lips soft and needy, as needy as her hands that are twisting the fabric at his shoulders.

There’s just _her_.

Claude doesn’t know how long they stay like that. After a while he shifts them, raising his knees as he sits upright, wrapping his arms around Byleth to move her with him. She makes a noise of surprise, drawing back from his lips as his face levels with hers. Claude can feel her thighs on either side of him, pressing against him. As his hands splay across her back, hers plays with his hair.

“You cut your braid,” she murmurs, eyes dancing across his face. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are pouty and full. Distracted, Claude leans in to kiss her again, licking across her lips and feeling her smile before her mouth opens to him again.

It’s just as consuming as their last kiss, but in a different way. Less desperate, perhaps.

This time Byleth pulls back first, eyes sparkling. The weary dread she’d carried with her at Gronder is nowhere to be seen right now. “Claude,” she admonishes lightly. “Your braid?”

He squeezes her slightly. “In Almyra, cutting it off is a symbol of accepting the responsibilities of adulthood. An end of childhood and innocence. It seemed fitting, after Garreg Mach.”

She smiles sadly as she runs her hands through his hair. Claude doesn’t like the shadows that are creeping back into her eyes.

Byleth moves one of her hands to rest on his chest, over his heart, which is still thudding rapidly. She stares for a long time at her hand, and Claude remains silent, wondering what she’s thinking about, hoping that she'll share her thoughts.

“I think,” she begins slowly, “there’s a lot I need to tell you.”

“I could say the same thing, you know.”

Her fingers curl into his jacket as she meets his eyes again. “Can I start with saying that I’m sorry? About Lorenz.”

The reminder of Lorenz’s death is like a bucket of cold water. Claude takes a shuddering breath, shutting his eyes briefly. Lorenz is hardly the only person in this war to have died, but he’s the closest person to Claude that he’s lost.

Despite how often they bickered, he wishes Lorenz was here.

“It’s alright,” he says to Byleth, but the words sound hollow.

“No, it’s not,” she replies gently, and he opens her eyes as she traces his face with her fingers. She still has that sad look on her face that he hates.

He moves around, back beginning to hurt from the awkward way he’s sitting upright, and he slumps forward slightly, letting Byleth take some of his weight, trying to not let himself get distracted in the feel of her body against him.

“No,” he whispers. “I suppose not. But you don’t have to apologise.”

“I killed him, Claude.”

He shakes his head. “I had my hand in his death, too. I knew he’d be at the Bridge of Myrddin. I tried to get him to go against his father, but he wouldn’t. I know he felt he was doing his duty as a noble and all that, but I think… I think he was afraid of what the Empire might do. To his family, to the Alliance, I don’t know.”

She looks infinitely sadder. “I tried too,” she says quietly, “to convince him to fall back. To do anything but fight us, but…” She trails off and looks away.

“Hey.” Claude waits until she looks at him again. “I know. I _know_, Byleth.”

He pitches forward until his head is resting in the crook of her neck, seeking comfort, but he winces even as Byleth wraps her arm around him.

“Ow,” he hisses.

Alarmed, Byleth pushes him back. “What?”

“Your sword is digging into me.”

She looks down to see the pommel of the Sword of the Creator jabbing into his ribs. Her lips twitch as they untangle themselves from their heap on the floor, but Claude doesn’t let go of her when they stand, keeping his hands across the small of her back, holding her close to him.

“I could have said that a few minutes ago, you know,” Byleth says casually.

His brows furrow. “What?”

“_Your sword is digging into me._”

Claude starts in surprise and then laughs. “Wow, Teach has jokes now, does she?”

She laughs too, a quiet laugh he’s only ever heard a handful of times. He swears he’s going to make every effort to hear it every day for the rest of his life, and with that thought in mind, he leans down for a kiss.

He knows they’re not finished talking, and that this isn’t going to be the last time Lorenz is discussed, but for a few brief and wonderful moments everything else ceases to exist again as he kisses her.

Unfortunately it’s interrupted by a knocking on the door in a rhythm that lets him know it's Hilda. It also lets him know that the rest of the world can't be kept at bay any longer.

Byleth seems to sense it too, dropping her hands from him with a rueful look and stepping back to a more socially acceptable distance. Not that it’ll fool anyone – she looks well kissed, and he’s probably no better.

When he takes a step to answer the door, he’s surprised when she suddenly grabs his arm again. “You’re really not leaving? Not yet?”

“No, not yet,” he promises. “We have time, Byleth. I'm not going to disappear.” 

She nods, looking relieved, and lets go of him again.

Hilda raps on the door once more.

“Just a minute,” he raises his voice momentarily before turning his attention back to Byleth. “When I open this door we’re going to have to deal with everyone and everything again, and we both know that’s not always easy. And now there’s going to be a silly feast and a lot of politicking and we might not get a chance to speak until tomorrow, or who knows when, so I’m going to be clear right now – I’m not letting you go again.”

Byleth’s mouth drops open slightly in surprise at his declaration. Claude can admit he’s a little surprised at _himself_, but it makes his words no less true. And he doesn’t want to let any more misunderstandings get in the way. He's made the decision to stay a bit longer in Fódlan, and so long as Byleth wants him – as she seems to – he's staying by her side.

He watches Byleth as he opens the door and Hilda strides in, looking remarkably refreshed considering the day, closely followed by Marianne and Lysithea, and then after them the aide who’d been concerned about the seating at the feast. While Claude finally listens to the list of things that require his attention, he keeps watching Byleth out of the corner of his eye, holding back a smile when he sees how happy reconnecting with the others – this time, outside of a battlefield – has made her.

When she looks at him and catches his eye and smiles wider, he doesn’t bother holding back his own any longer and he knows with certainty that staying is the right choice.

Almyra will still be there when this war is over. It can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it took 60k+ words to get to what is arguably the AU part of this AU but that’s just how mad I was about Claude in Azure Moon, don’t judge me.
> 
> Fun fact: the very first part of this fic I wrote, months ago, was the Claudeleth reunion, back when this was going to be a short fic (lol). It stuck much closer to canon and it was only as I fleshed out the fic and worked out how to try and make Claude's story in AM make some sense that things changed. Consequently, the whole thing is entirely different but the original scene basically stands alone as a one-shot (AU of an AU? idek anymore it's out of control), so I think I'm going to tidy it up and post it once this fic is done because who doesn't love more Claudeleth? and I'm honestly kind of fond of it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I am also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/flowerfuls).


	12. Chapter 12

This is a strange kind of celebration, Byleth decides, this feast. It’s being thrown to mark the defeat of the Empire in Derdriu and to honour Dimitri, who has now found his territory greatly expanded. The Alliance nobles, as Claude had said, have agreed to dissolve Leicester back into Faerghus, but she can see them all sizing Dimitri up. But the fact that Dimitri has just saved Derdriu, and that even now Kingdom soldiers are chasing the last of the Empire out of the country, is going a long way in his favour. His strength is not in doubt, nor his ability to protect the people. And Dimitri is _trying_ so hard, it makes Byleth feel even more exhausted just looking at him. He’s listening carefully to the nobles who approach him, solemn and far more regal than he probably realises. He even looks slightly less intimidating than usual, better groomed than usual and dressed in formal clothes.

Byleth knows he’s working hard to dispel the lingering rumours around him, just as much as she knows he’s still haunted by his ghosts.

But he’s making a good impression and Dimitri is, to be fair, a fair cry from how he’d been just months ago. None of these Alliance nobles had seen him then, not even Claude, who might never have thought to put his trust in them if he had. And while Byleth is a little concerned about the pressure Dimitri’s under, she knows she can’t do any more than she already is to help.

At the very least, some of the others are stepping up in that regard. And it’s obvious Dedue is a solid rock to Dimitri. His port in a storm, as it were. And as Dimitri reaches out to make amends, the others are flocking back to him. She knows he’s been repairing his friendship with Sylvain and Ingrid, and she’s seen him spending time with most of the others.

The exception is Felix, but she's not going to get involved in whatever is going on there.

And she’s still not sure she believes what Claude had said earlier, about Dimitri’s feelings for her, but she also knows Claude wouldn’t pull something like that out of nothing. Maybe she just doesn’t _want_ to believe it. It’s definitely not something she’s going to bring up with Dimitri. He’s apologised for how he acted before, but he’d never specifically mentioned how he’d spoken to her about Claude. Byleth is rather hoping no one, including Claude himself, ever brings it up again and the mere idea of it is forgotten by everyone.

Many of the eyes watching Dimitri end up on her, too, and Byleth does what she can to ignore them. But she can see their curiosity, especially when Dimitri speaks so warmly to her and about her, and her ears burn under the scrutiny. They wonder at their relationship, and then they hear the whispers of her disappearing with Claude and wonder at that too, probably thinking she’s in no position to be a moral authority over anyone.

They’d be right, but not for the reasons they think.

There are speeches. They're very boring. This is turning out rather like an Alliance Roundtable, Byleth gathers, so everyone is having a say. Dimitri had started, followed by Claude, and now the rest are taking their turns while everyone else drinks too much wine.

As one red-faced noble gets particularly effusive about Dimitri, Byleth meets Claude’s eyes across the table. It’s enough to set her pulse racing at the memories of their last meeting, and the knowledge that he’s here, and he’s with her, something she’d never let herself hope could be a possibility. He stirs up feelings Byleth never even knew she could have.

Suddenly there’s a bright star in the dark night, helping to guide her. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen, but she knows she has him. She trusts him.

The genial smile on Claude’s face as their gazes meet doesn’t change, but his eyes twinkle as he leans his head towards the rambling speaker as if to say, _get a load of this guy_.

Byleth presses her lips together so that she doesn’t grin back at him, instead raising her eyebrows and her glass of wine to her lips. _I’m too sober for this_.

Like he understands what she’s trying to say, Claude’s smile widens and he gives a little nod in return before taking a dramatic gulp of his own drink.

A murmured voice by Byleth’s side distracts her and she’s forced to turn away, and all her happy feelings evaporate into the air.

“Your absence before was noted.” As he speaks softly, Seteth folds his napkin neatly, placing it it beside his empty dessert plate. As the two head representatives of the Church of Seiros, it’s no surprise they’ve been seated together. And while Byleth generally gets on fine with Seteth – he’s often overbearing and they don’t see eye to eye on a lot of issues, but he’s usually reasonable, and he does a lot of the busywork of the Church that she’d struggle with – he’s also not the first choice she’d make in a dinner companion.

Especially tonight, because she’s been expecting some comment about her disappearance, and Seteth is already a little disgruntled that she’d refused to give any kind of speech. But Byleth knows she’s not good at that and she’s not good at pretending she really cares about the Church all that much. She cares about its army. Instead, Seteth had stood and said something that Byleth half listened to as she watched Claude, who watched her… and she wondered why Rhea hadn’t made Seteth her successor. Whenever they do find her, Byleth is ready to ask her some questions.

Now, she takes another small sip from her wine glass, letting her eyes dance down the table at all the people trying to pretend they’re listening to the man still droning on. Claude has also redirected his attention to the speaker, though she knows the expression of polite interest on his face is a mask. Coolly, she asks Seteth, “Was it a problem?”

“Considering this was the first discussion about the merging of the Alliance and Kingdom, then yes, I would say. The Church’s role remains vital.”

“Claude wasn’t there either.” As she says the words, Byleth realises they sound a little childish, like she’s tattling on Claude and getting him into trouble, too.

“_That_ was noticed, too.” There’s a hint of disapproval in Seteth’s voice. “There has already been speculation–“

They can _shove_ their speculation. “I don’t care,” Byleth interrupts.

“But, Archbishop–“

“Don’t call me that,” she hisses lowly so no one else can hear, interrupting him again. “I’ve asked you before. You know I’m doing this only until we find Rhea.”

“I know, Byleth.” Seteth sighs, turning apologetic. “I apologise. I know you’ve found the role difficult, but the fact remains that while you are only interim Archbishop, you are still _Archbishop_, and you must be aware of how these things look.”

She resists the urge to tell him, again, that she doesn’t care, but she knows Seteth is already aware of that.

“Especially now,” Seteth continues, “when everything remains so uncertain.”

Byleth narrows her eyes at her glass, wondering if it’ll shatter it if she squeezes it any tighter. Going off with Claude had been selfish, she knows. But everything she’s done in the last few months has been to win this war; spending a precious hour alone with Claude isn’t going to lose it. Because that’s all it had been, before they’d both been dragged away to their own duties, and she finally had a chance to wash, and then there had been meetings…

Tomorrow, they will get back to the war and the push into Adrestia, but right now there is this feast and, well, it’s going to be a long evening.

Byleth resists the urge to rub her itchy eyes, aware of the make-up that’s been slathered on her face. Hilda had frowned as she applied it, covering up the dark circles under her eyes, but had mercifully said nothing.

Now, to Seteth, Byleth replies shortly. “I know.”

He sighs. “It won’t be forever. And I do appreciate what you’ve done. We all do.” He pauses and the two of them pretend to politely listen to the still bloviating noble who is now talking about what a _golden prince_ Dimitri is – while Dimitri looks more and more uncomfortable with each passing word. Meanwhile, Sylvain’s face has gone as red as his hair as he tries not to laugh at what he’s hearing. Felix looks like he’s two seconds away from jumping on the table and stabbing the noble in the throat. Even Ingrid, who might ordinarily have chastised them for their behaviour, is making a valiant but failing effort to keep her knightly composure.

Byleth has to look away before she laughs at them, and tunes in again to what Seteth is saying. “We’ve come so far. Hopefully Claude’s intelligence is correct and Rhea is in Enbarr. Soon we will find her and end this war and the sacrifices made will be worth it.”

Another pause and the man speaking mercifully finishes his speech and bows towards Dimitri at the head of the long table as some people politely clap, before finally sitting down. With far more grace than Byleth would have shown, Dimitri thanks the man, while an air of relief floats up from the crowd, and the level of noise increases.

It’s interesting, she thinks, watching how the Alliance nobility works. She knows enough by now to know that it’s different from Faerghus. Dimitri is going to have to learn to navigate that. She’d only had a few moments to speak with him alone since the battle in Derdriu, shortly before the dinner had started. Apparently Claude has offered his help in that regard. Considering Claude has wrangled these nobles and kept Leicester neutral – and mostly safe – these past five years, Byleth thinks there’s no one better to advise him on the matter.

But she might be biased.

.

Dinner ends and the mingling begins in earnest. The evening drags on, and it remains excruciating and sadly for Byleth she can’t get drunk. This isn’t a rowdy village pub full of her father’s mercenaries where everyone drinks too much cheap ale and embarrasses themselves.

Not that Byleth had ever actually done that. But she understands the urge to do it, now.

Here, in this grand hall of the Riegan estate, so many people call her _Archbishop_, and unfortunately she has to bear it. Mostly, they’re trying to feel her out, just like they are with Dimitri. The Alliance’s links to the Church may be weaker than that of the Kingdom, but they can’t ignore that the Church had a huge part in saving them, and that she’s close to the man that will be their king.

At least they all talk a lot so she doesn’t have to say much. This arena isn’t her area of expertise, where words and false flattery are the weapons. So she takes solace in the knowledge that she could easy defeat each of them in a fight, and plans her escape.

It takes a while before she can get away, but slowly Byleth makes her way across the crowded room. Every few steps she’s stopped and forced into another conversation but she keeps her eyes on the prize and keeps working towards her goal. Once she reaches the edge of the room, Byleth walks until she’s at the door she’s been eyeing for what feels like hours and slips through, ignoring the call of _Archbishop_ from somewhere behind her. Finding herself in a narrow hallway she thinks might be used by the servants, she swiftly makes her way down it. To anyone watching, she’s in no doubt about where she’s going, but the truth is, after two turns and more identical, dimly lit hallways, she has no idea.

Not that she really cares, because it’s blissfully quiet here. The sounds from the feast have dimmed, and there are less lamps lit. The solitude and darkness is welcome, and Byleth wanders aimlessly, finally feeling the tension of the evening leave her shoulders.

She just wishes she could have had a chance to speak to Claude, but his predication that they’d be pulled in different directions had been correct.

Her fingers brush across her lips, and she can’t help but smile as she remembers.

_I’m not letting you go again_.

The memory of his kisses and his words make her feel giddy in a way she’s never felt before. She’d never expected all that she’d hoped for would actually happen. When she’d told Claude in her letter that she hoped he would call her ‘_my friend_’ again, she’d meant that. That would have been enough, even if it wasn’t truly all that she wanted.

She still has questions – she can’t deny she’s desperately curious to know more about his connections to the Almyran throne, because _that_ had thrown her – and countless things to tell him herself. But he’s not leaving, they have time, and suddenly, so suddenly, everything is brighter than it used to be.

A door further down the hallway creaks open and Byleth stops in her tracks, expecting it’ll be someone wondering what she’s doing in this area. She takes a quick step back, hand searching along the wall for the handle to the door she’d just passed.

Except that it’s Claude who steps out, like her thoughts have summoned him. He takes long, quick strides until he’s in front of her, smiling softly and taking a hold of her waist, backing her up against the wall and bringing a hand to cradle her face as he leans down to kiss her.

Byleth sighs into him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him close. She eagerly presses her lips against his before drawing his lower lips between hers and sucking gently. He makes the most delicious noise in the back of his throat before pulling back slightly to take a deep breath. His hands smooth down over her neck to her shoulders. One finger plays with the strap of the dress she’d been forced to wear – borrowed from who knows where – and the brush of his skin against hers makes need curl in her stomach.

He watches her, bright eyed, for a moment, before brushing a lock of hair behind her ears. “When I saw you leave, I followed you.”

Byleth’s eyebrows raise. She’d lost track of Claude somewhere in the crowd – she had never thought he’d see her leaving. But obviously he’d been watching her even if she couldn’t see him. And then – “How did you manage to get ahead of me?”

He leans in with a conspiratorial smile. “I know all the secret passageways here.”

Of course he did. “Was that the first thing you did when you moved in, learn all the secrets?”

“The second. The first thing I did was check my welcoming meal for poison.”

She frowns. He says it so casually, almost like how he’d spoken about his parents and how they’d left him to fend for himself.

Picking up on her expression, he grimaces slightly. “Sorry.” He leans in to press a kiss to the corner of her lips and his voice drops. “Perhaps I need to work on my pillow talk.”

Shivering at the timbre of his voice, Byleth feels that coil of want curl tighter inside her. But she pushes it aside, for now, and shakes her head. “No. You can tell me anything, Claude.” If nothing else, she wants him to know that.

Her words make his eyes widen slightly as he regards her. “I can, can’t I?” He says it with something akin to wonder.

She feels the same way. It still seems unbelievable that he’s standing here, looking at her like this, and it’s enough for Byleth to give in to what she wants and she grabs his cravat to pull his face back to hers. She finds herself pressed between the wall and Claude as they kiss again, and again, losing track of time.

A door opening and slamming in the distance, and the sound of voices floating down the hall, makes them eventually part. Claude steps back to lean against the opposite wall as they both catch their breath.

They’re far enough away from the ballroom for the sounds of the celebrations to be muted, but now they can hear the noises of instruments as the musicians begin warming up.

“Ah, I see we’ve reached the dancing portion of the evening,” Claude says, glancing back towards the direction Byleth had come in.

Her stomach sinks. “Do you want to go back?”

He turns back to her, considering. “Only if you do.”

“I should,” she responds hesitantly, and then sighs. “It’s expected.”

Claude’s eyes seem to bore straight through her, seeing everything she might keep hidden from others. Or perhaps it’s just because she wants him to see it all.

“But do you _want_ to?” he asks again.

“I still can’t dance,” she mutters.

“That’s not an answer,” he gently chides and then steps forward and raises his arms, positioning them like he’s waiting for a dance partner. He winks at her. “It’s all in the leading, anyway.”

She can’t help but smile as she steps into his arms, taking his outstretched hand and resting another on his shoulder. “Is it?”

“I think I proved that when we danced before.” Claude draws her closer to him – closer than when they’d danced at the ball five years ago – and begins to lead her down the hall. Like she had before, she follows his lead, although the long, narrow hallway isn’t really suitable for dancing, and she can’t help but laugh when Claude bumps into the wall.

His eyes light up at the sound.

“I like dancing with you,” she says, a little breathlessly, as Claude carefully turns them so neither of them hit the wall.

He smiles. “I still remember the look on your face when I made you dance with me at Garreg Mach.”

“I ended up enjoying it.” The ball had been a surprising amount of fun. It’s not something she’s thought about much, not now. Because while it had been fun, and the dance with Claude had been special, she had also danced with Lorenz, who is now dead by her hands.

It had also been the last quality time she’d spent with her father. She remembers their dance. That had been special, too.

“Byleth.” Claude’s voice is full of concern and Byleth realises that she’s stopped moving. “What is it?”

She swallows and shakes her head, as if it would help shake off the encroaching sadness. It’s always there, threatening to sneak up, but she doesn’t want it to ruin her time with Claude too. Raising her eyes to meet his, she forces a smile to her face. “It’s nothing.”

When she tries to move them again, Claude doesn’t budge. His grip on her hand tightens, and there’s a crease between his brows as he looks at her. “You know what you just said? About me being able to tell you anything?” She gives a faint nod in acknowledgement. “I hope you know that goes both ways.”

“I–“ She stops. She _had_ known, she’d just… forgotten, not used to it. Byleth can trust and depend on people – in battle. Outside of it, she’s used to keeping things to herself. “I was thinking of my father.” She takes a deep breath. “At the ball.”

Claude starts moving them again, but it’s more a gentle swaying than anything else. They probably look ridiculous, in the middle of this empty hallway, with only the faintest sounds of music to be heard. But it’s the most peaceful Byleth has felt in some time, even while her sadness lingers.

Claude’s expression turns soft, and Byleth leans into him with a sigh, resting her cheek against his chest. His hand slides from her shoulder to the centre of her back, solid and warm. A comfort.

“I remember watching you dance with him,” he says wistfully.

“We were terrible.”

He laughs lightly. “You were. But you both looked like you were having fun.”

She smiles a little at that. “We were,” she whispers, echoing his words.

Is it greedy, Byleth wonders, to want to stay like this forever? She turns her face further into his chest. “I really don’t want to go back and have to dance with anyone else.”

His grip on her tightens again. “Then you don’t have to, and honestly? I’m glad. Do you want to get some fresh air?”

Byleth pulls back with a shake of her head. “I’d actually like to go back to my room.”

Claude’s eyebrows raise slightly, and when he next speaks it’s with a slight hesitancy she’s surprised at. “Do you want me to come with you?”

With furrowed eyebrows, she responds, “Of course I do.”

“To your room?” A tiny blush crosses his face and Byleth realises what her words sound like. Moving out of his embrace completely, but keeping his hand in hers, she begins walking down the hallway.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m not propositioning you, I’m tired.”

Claude laughs incredulously, and then says, after a pause, “Do you know where you’re going?”

“No, but I’ll figure it out.”

He laughs again, louder, and tugs at her hand as he makes a turn into one of the side doors. “This way, Teach.”

Letting him lead the way, they lapse into silence and find their way back to the main part of the building. They pass both servants and guests along the way, and both ignore the raised eyebrows and aside whispers at the sight of their joined hands.

Neither of them make a move to pull apart.

It doesn’t take too long before they reach the stairs leading to the guest quarters and are alone again.

“I wouldn’t mind it, you know,” Claude says nonchalantly, “if you did proposition me.”

Byleth’s lips quirk upwards, though his words send her pulse racing. “Good to know.”

“In fact,” he continues. “It would be very enthusiastically received.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” she replies, deadpan, and Claude pouts at her.

She laughs at him just as they reach the door to her room.

“You’ve turned into a cruel woman, my friend.”

This time, she’s the one backing him into the wall, rising up on her toes and grasping the back of his head with her hands to angle the kiss to her liking. She feels him smile against her as his hands smooth down her back. Like every kiss they’ve shared so far, this one is passionate and makes her greedy. It leaves her wanting more.

Against his lips, she murmurs, “Are you coming back with us to Garreg Mach tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he rasps in reply, swallowing her breath with another kiss. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t letting you go again.”

“Good.” She presses one last kiss to his lips and backs away until she reaches the opposite wall, turning slightly to twist the handle of her bedroom door. She pushes aside a flutter of nerves. “In that case, I am tired, but do you want to stay? To sleep?”

He smiles tenderly. “I’d like that.”

.

Claude kicks off his boots and begins shedding some of his outer layers as Byleth disappears into a small washroom adjacent to her bedroom. He fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt as he waits for her to reappear, not sure about just how much of his clothes he should be removing, with a flutter of nerves in his stomach.

It’s not long before she steps back into the room and Claude has to bite back a groan at the sight. Her face has been scrubbed of make-up, and the pins in her hair have been pulled out, leaving it loose and wild as ever. All she’s wearing is a long beige sleep shirt – on the face of it, not the sexiest of sartorial choices. But it hits her mid thigh and then there’s just… legs. Lots of leg.

His eyes follow her as she moves across the room, extinguishing the lamps.

She glances at him with a question in her eyes. “Claude, are you alright?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat and steps towards the bed.

Byleth tilts her head. “Will you be comfortable wearing all that?”

Glancing down at himself, still wearing most of his clothes, Claude laughs a little self consciously. “I suppose I am a little overdressed.”

She hums and then says absently, “It’s nice to not have to wear armour to bed.” Drawing back the covers, Byleth slips under them and lays on her side, watching Claude as he pulls off his shirt.

He laughs again. “Like what you see?”

“Yes,” is the simple reply, so freely spoken Claude can feel a blush crossing his cheeks. She could have said something teasing or coy, but she was just _honest_. It’s as endearing as it is flattering. He glances over at Byleth as he pulls off his pants, leaving him clad in only his smalls. She has the blankets pulled up around her face, so all he can see are her wide eyes as they stare at him, moving up his body until she reaches his face, with her hair messily spread out across the pillow. In this moment he finds that words fail him, but for once he doesn’t really mind as he slips under the covers beside her. He searches out her hand under the blankets with his own.

“You’re cute,” he tells her.

She scoffs, voice a little muffled by the blankets covering her mouth. “I am _not_.”

“Alright,” he amends. “You’re cute with me.”

Her fingers twine with his, squeezing slightly. “Maybe.” He can hear the smile in her voice. “Just with you.”

Byleth scoots closer to him, still keeping hold of his hand, until her legs brush against his. This kind of intimacy is unfamiliar to Claude, but he wants more of it.

She pulls the blanket covering her face away, and he can feel her breath brush across his face.

“Claude,” she begins, turning serious.

When she doesn’t say anything else but remains silent and thoughtful, he prompts her, curious. “What is it, Teach?”

“When you said you had connections to the Almyran royal family, what did you mean by that?”

“Ah.” He’s not surprised she’s asking, and he had meant to be more forthcoming about it before they’d been interrupted last time. But it’s something he’s kept to himself for so long, it’s difficult to say out loud, even to Byleth. The self preservation is too strong. He takes a deep breath, finding a sense of calm in the touch of her hand around his, and her legs against him. “You already know who my mother is.” Byleth nods, hair shifting against the pillow. “She’s always been pretty headstrong, apparently. When she was young, she fell out with her father – the former Duke – and left Fódlan, swearing never to return. She’s kept that oath to this day.” He’d thought she might have visited him in Derdriu after her father died, but… she’d just sent a letter. 

“She went to Almyra,” Byleth states.

“She went to Almyra,” Claude echos, thinking back on all the times his parents have told them the story about their first meeting. Embellished by his father, downplayed by his mother. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle. “She hadn’t been there long when she met my father – they met in the western city of Ililica. It’s the nearest city to the Throat. A lot of people pass through, and it can be pretty rough.” When he’d gone through Ililica himself, he’d kept a low profile. His status would make him a target. His father had done the same. “They bumped into each other, quite literally, in the marketplace. I'm sure my father did it on purpose to catch her attention like an immature schoolboy, but he still claims it was an accident.” His father is a liar – he’d have been dead before Claude was ever born if he went around stumbling into strangers. The man did everything with purpose, and he missed nothing. “Anyway, my mother had just bought a roll of expensive fabric – if you listen to her talk about it, you’d think the silk was spun by the goddess herself – and it got knocked to the ground and ended up in the mud, ruined. She got angry, and when my father just kept smiling at her like a lovestruck fool instead of apologising or offering to replace it, she got _really_ angry.” Claude is familiar with the lovestruck smile.

Byleth is agog. “What happened then?”

“So, my father had two guards with him, who were being paid handsomely to keep him safe. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t take well to a Fódlan woman being in his personal space and speaking to him like that. Some insulting things were said. One of them took out his sword and threatened to cut out her tongue.” Claude pauses to take a deep breath, enjoying the completely engrossed look on Byleth’s face. “Please be aware that, over the years, my parents have perfected telling this story and I’m no longer sure what part is true and what isn’t, but– unsurprisingly, my mother didn’t take kindly to the threat. She stabbed the guard in the throat with her dagger.” Byleth nods approvingly, much to his amusement. “That part? I can definitely believe that part. And according to my father, that’s the exact moment he fell in love with her. Allegedly, he turned to his other guard and told him that he’d be the one losing his tongue, for treason against his future queen.”

Byleth’s eyes widen. “_Queen_?”

“Yes. At the time my father was a prince of Almyra. He’s king now. He actually left his first wife to marry my mother. It was something of a scandal.”

Byleth sits up, staring at him. “You’re a prince,” she says dully. Then she laughs, incredulous, and there’s an edge to it that Claude’s not sure he likes. “When you said _royal connections_, I thought maybe you were some… distant cousin.”

Claude watches her carefully as she processes it all. “You can understand why I kept it a secret, surely?”

“Yes, to a certain extent. But with the war – are you not able to get help from Almyra?”

“It’s not guaranteed. You know relations between both Fódlan and Almyra aren’t good. But I did write, before Derdriu.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I haven’t heard back yet. It was made very clear that if I went to Fódlan, I was on my own. Not that _that_ is too different to how it was in Almyra.”

A flash of anger crosses her face. It’s a nice feeling, Claude decides, to know she cares. “Your parents…”

“Don’t get me wrong – they care for me a lot. But my father has children from his first marriage, too. And the lines of succession in Almyra aren’t like how it is here. I’m the youngest of his children, but when the time comes, I’ve as much right to fight for the throne as any of my half-siblings.”

“And that’s what you want, isn’t it?” She murmurs, eyes glittering in the dim light. “To be king. For your dream.”

“Yes.” He brings their joined hands up to his lips, gently placing a kiss to her knuckles. Her eyes grow heavy watching him and he wonders at what she’s thinking, and if she knows how much he wants her to be by his side. It doesn’t feel like the right time for that kind of declaration, but Claude knows it’ll have to be addressed soon. If he wants to be king, and she wants to stay with him… the conclusions are obvious. “It’s the only way I can achieve it. I’m the only one in a position to achieve it.” Byleth settles back onto her side, eyes still on his, and her bare leg slides against him, warm and enticing. As much as he’d like to hitch that leg right over his hip and fall right into her warmth, he pushes those thoughts back. She deserves to know this before she can make a choice when he _does_ make his declarations. Everything. So he takes a deep breath and continues.

“Despite how it sounds, my father did favour me. And he does love my mother. But his favour and love made us targets.” He can feel himself tensing as he speaks. “She’s the Fódlan whore, and I’m her half-breed brat that she dared to give a Fódlan name to. That first guard she stabbed in Ililica wasn’t the last person she killed in Almyra to save her own life. Or mine, or even my father's.” he adds after a pause. “They raised me the way they did so I could take care of myself. But I want to make sure that no one else has to grow up like me. And on the other end of the scale, I don’t want anyone to have to go through what Cyril has, either. I’ve already set the wheels in motion to open up Fódlan’s Throat here after the war here has ended – next is doing it on the other side.”

“That’s admirable,” she murmurs. “And you’ve made a king here friendly to you, arguably in your debt, and who shares ideas on making the world better.”

He gives her a lopsided smile. “I’d rather not leave anything to chance.”

She makes a small _hmm_. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispers, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose, making him laugh.

He’s glad he’s told her, that she knows. It’s a relief, but he’s concerned that she’s hiding a sheet of worry behind her eyes.

But just as he’s about to try and address that, Byleth says, serious as ever, “Should I call you _Your Princeliness_?”

The comment makes Claude laugh in surprise and put aside his concern for the moment. He enjoys seeing her like this, relaxed enough to tease him. And he should have known all the times he’d called Dimitri that would come back to haunt him. “_Please_ don’t.”

Byleth blinks her big green eyes at him and looks like she’s about to say something else. But all of a sudden she yawns – a loud, mouth splitting yawn. Flushing, she covers her mouth with her hand.

“Am I boring you that much?” he teases, inching his head across the pillow closer to her.

“No.” Byleth yawns again. “I just don’t sleep that much, and it’s been…” she raises a shoulder. Claude gets what she means.

“Trouble sleeping?” He knows the answer to his question. It’s obvious Byleth’s been run ragged, and the dark circles under her eyes are even more pronounced than they were at Gronder.

Her eyes dart away from his. “Nightmares. And sometimes I’m afraid I won’t wake up again.”

He hadn’t considered that before. Claude thinks he should have – it seems obvious.

“I won’t let that happen,” he says fiercely, touching her cheek. “I’ll be here to wake you up.” Brushing loose hair back from her face, he tries to relax and remove the touch of sadness in her eyes. “And anyway, now you have me gracing your bed. If there was ever a better reason to wake up, I don’t want to hear it.”

The haunted look recedes from Byleth as he speaks, replaced by something far more enticing as her lips curl upwards slightly. “Maybe,” she says in a low voice, “with you in my bed, I won’t want to go asleep.”

Claude groans. “This is how you kill a man, Teach.”

Her leg tightens around his as he leans in for a kiss…

…and then Byleth yawns again.

“Alright, alright,” says Claude with some amusement. “I can take a hint.”

She seems sheepish. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He rests his hand on her neck, feeling the thrumming pulse under his skin. His thumb caresses her cheek again. “Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You’d better,” she mumbles, finally closing her eyes as she tucks herself against him.

It’s not long before her breathing evens out and her body relaxes, but it takes Claude a lot longer to fall asleep.

He’s never fallen asleep with someone before. It’s the most vulnerable a person can be, and he’s taken steps for so long to make sure he wouldn’t taken unawares while he slept.

Claude is a light sleeper by necessity.

And here Byleth is in his arms, fast asleep, and he’s not sure there’s a person alive who might understand what that means to him. What it means that soon he’ll be asleep beside her too.

_Byleth_ is the only one who might understand.

He turns slightly to get himself more comfortable, careful not to disturb her. With a soft brush of his lips against her forehead, he finally closes his eyes and relaxes.

.

And like he promised, he’s there when she wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why move the plot along when you can just smush the characters together and say “now kiss!!!!” ? What actually happened was that the chapter hit 12k words so it got split up. Brevity? I don’t know her.
> 
> And lack of info/flashbacks on Alymra/Claude's childhood is just as much of a crime as the fact that Judith isn't a GD exclusive unit with supports. 
> 
> I also wrote a Claudeleth post-game oneshot [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22559074)! There is angst and smut.


	13. Chapter 13

Returning to Garreg Mach leaves Claude with some conflicting feelings. He can remember his last time here only too well – when it had been empty and neglected, and he and Hilda had wandered around like ghosts haunting a graveyard, and he’d sat in Teach’s room, grieving. It’s different now. Even though there’s still plenty of damage to the monastery itself, the whole place is alive again, like when they were students. And Teach is here, very much alive, with him.

Except it’s _not_ like when they were students.

“I know I should be happier the place looks better than it did the last time we were here, and I _am_, but…” By his side, Hilda trails off as she watches the small group of soldiers training near the lake, where once you might have spotted Lindhardt taking a nap, or Ignatz painting.

“It’s not a school anymore,” Marianne says softly.

Claude nods. “It’s a war base.” He doesn’t feel the same sadness that Hilda and Marianne seem to be experiencing, despite having not generally disliked his time at the monastery. The Officer’s Academy may have been, on the face of it, a school and a place for learning, but it had still been brutal in other ways. They’d still sent Sylvain to kill his brother, and Ashe to kill his adopted father. For many of them, their first kills had been on missions they’d been ordered to go on by Rhea herself, defending the Church.

He remembers helping Marianne and Ignatz through that, how shaken they’d been by the deaths caused by their own hands.

They’re long since over that, and they had been even before the war. They’d all stood without flinching when they had defended Garreg Mach, five years ago.

So what was the Officer’s Academy, if it hadn’t been prepping them for war all along?

And here they are, two of the three countries of Fódlan, fighting on behalf of the Church.

If Edelgard had gone about things differently, Claude might well have been on her side. The world she’s trying to build – if she’s being truthful – isn’t too dissimilar in some ways to Claude’s goals. And like Edelgard, Claude doesn’t trust the Church of Seiros and thinks they’ve overstayed their time in power. Their influence must be decreased.

But Edelgard _hadn’t_ gone about things differently. Claude wouldn’t hesitate to put an arrow in her throat himself to end this war.

.

While they had traveled to Garreg Mach separately – Claude heading the new Alliance forces being enveloped by the Kingdom, and Byleth with the Knights of Seiros – she seeks him out on his first evening back in the monastery. In fact, she arrives at the door to his old room like a fantasy he’d had in his Academy days come to life.

Except this is no fantasy, and instead of falling into his arms and his bed, Byleth is obviously distracted and harried lingering in the frame of open door. It’s only a couple of days ago she’d woken up refreshed in his arms, but any benefit from that seems to be long gone.

Claude, too, had slept better than usual that night, and worse than usual since then.

In her arms, Byleth is clutching a book to her chest.

“I can’t stay,” she says in a rush, her regret clear. “I need to talk to Gilbert and he’s waiting for me. But this is what I wanted to show you.” Hesitantly she holds out the book, and Claude moves to take it from her carefully. “It’s my father’s journal.”

He freezes, fingers brushing against hers as they both hold onto it.

“I’d like you to read it,” Byleth goes on, her gaze steady.

“Are you sure?” Claude asks, despite his burning curiosity. Even though he desperately wants to know what’s in this journal – and obviously there’s something in there Byleth thinks he _should_ know – he doesn’t want it if she’s uncomfortable with it. They’ve come too far for that.

But Byleth retracts her hands, leaving him holding the journal. “I’m sure,” she says, decisively. “Let me know when you’ve read it.”

She takes a step back and turns to leave before he can reply. Claude looks down at the journal in his hands briefly, before stepping out into the hallway and watching Byleth’s back until she disappears down the stairs.

That had been abrupt.

Claude wonders just what is in this journal to make her act like that. Because while she may trust him with it – and there’s no doubt the journal is important to her – it’s still clearly not easy for her to leave it in his hands.

Much like how he’d felt when he’d told her who he really was, Claude muses as he steps back into the room, shutting and locking the door.

He takes a seat at the desk, opening the journal in front of him, and settles in to read.

.

Now back in their base, the preparations for the march to Enbarr begin in earnest, and with it, the question of how to deal with the biggest obstacle in their path: Fort Merceus.

Claude takes a step back, falling into the background. Now officially one of Dimitri’s generals, he’s careful not to step on any toes. The absorption of the Alliance back into the Kingdom had been peaceful, but there are still many wondering at how the reality of it will go, and Claude knows he can’t undermine Dimitri. He watches him carefully, both to assess that he has truly made the right decision, and also to know what he’ll be dealing with when he does return to Almyra.

Always good to know more about the neighbours than they know about you. And while he’s here, Claude thinks he may as well make the effort to be on good terms with the Kingdom nobles.

Lingering rumours about Dimitri remain, both from the years he’d disappeared and how he’d acted when he’d first reappeared. But it’s clear Dimitri is trying to make amends for that. And with his actions, not just his words, which Claude can appreciate. And while Dimitri is, understandably, more focused on the current war effort, he’s mentioned some thoughts about the future of Fódlan to Claude, enough for him to have no regrets about the decisions he’s made.

Where Teach will fit into that future… Claude is less certain. He knows what _he_ wants, but he’s unwilling to lay that out on the table when she has much on her plate, and when she’s still adjusting to the truth about just what his _royal connections_ in Almyra are and what that might mean for her, and for them.

He can see how she can’t really think about the future beyond their next battles, much less beyond the war, but he knows she must be thinking about it.

He can also see, very clearly, how much pressure everyone is putting on her. He won’t add to that if he can help it.

Byleth is a tactician, a general, a confidant, an advisor. She trains them all like she did when she was a Professor, as well as overseeing the training of troops. She’s the acting Archbishop of the Church of Seiros. She works closely with Dimitri, and her advice is constantly sought, while others attempt to ingratiate themselves with her.

At the very least Seteth seems to be taking care of much of the actual business of running the Church. But it still doesn’t change Byleth’s position.

And while he’s not going to downplay the role of anyone in this war, it would be lost without Byleth.

He hasn’t had a real chance to speak with her since she’d given him Jeralt’s journal a couple of days ago – thoughts of which are never far from his mind. The contents of the journal have done nothing but make him more suspicious of Rhea and it’s not like he had the highest opinion of the former Archbishop to begin with.

Claude understands the importance of finding Rhea, and he expects Teach wants answers from her more than anyone, but he can’t help but be angry at her. He’d done his own digging while he’d been at the monastery. Whatever Rhea had done to Byleth as a baby had unsettled Jeralt enough for him to start a fire to fake Byleth’s death so he could get her away from Rhea, disappearing into Fódlan and becoming a mercenary – always on the move, hard to track down, able to disappear easily. And that must explain why Teach had been so clueless about things that were common knowledge to all – had been common knowledge even to _Claude_, who’d grown up in another country. Jeralt had wanted to keep her ignorant. Had he thought it for Byleth’s safety? Rhea had coveted Byleth in a suspicious way, but as far as Claude knew, hadn’t harmed her. In fact, it had always seemed the exact opposite. Rhea had given Byleth a teaching job despite being wholly unqualified. She’d given Byleth the Sword of the Creator. She’d favoured Byleth in a way everyone had noticed, and then named Byleth her successor.

And yet she’d done something to baby Byleth that had made a man like Jeralt – a man who had been previously been devoted to the Archbishop – take incredibly drastic actions to get away.

In truth, the journal doesn’t answer much – except, perhaps, Teach’s real age. Turns out, she’d even been wrong about the day of her birth. But otherwise, it leaves Claude with more questions.

The days go quickly by. They’re all kept busy, even the newcomers from the Alliance. There’s no room for idleness here. But as far as Claude can see, no one is more busy than Byleth. It makes him antsy, torn between not wanting to bother her, and needing to see her, knowing she’ll want to hear his thoughts on Jeralt’s journal.

It keeps the thought of not knowing what _she_ wants prickling at him.

But as he watches her in war meetings, and catches glimpses of her hurrying through the monastery, the decision is easy to make.

It’s Teach. If he’s bothering her, she’ll tell him.

So that night he seeks her out. He’s spurred on by the tired smile she’d given him after a meeting that afternoon, a brief moment before she was swallowed up by the return of some of their scouts.

So now here he is, standing outside the door to her room like he had so many years ago. He’d spent a large part of the day running drills with his troops, a mix of Leicester and Faerghus to better facilitate bonds, and his body ached. If Byleth is awake, he’s sure she’s tired too, but even if she doesn’t want to talk about Jeralt’s journal, he needs to know that she’s okay.

There’s light flickering under the door, although there are no sounds from inside. Still, Claude raises his hand and knocks lightly. Almost immediately, he can hear the scrape of a chair against the floor. A second later, the door opens a crack, and Byleth peers out with only one narrowed eye visible.

“Hey, Teach,” he greets her, smiling as she immediately opens the door wider.

Her eyes look past him, out into the courtyard, still narrowed. Suddenly, she grabs his arm, tugging him in so she can shut the door behind him. A bit bemused, Claude watches her flick the lock.

Seeing the expression on his face, she explains, “There are still people around and I don’t want them getting any ideas about bothering me this late. I don’t get much peace.”

“Ah.” Claude’s eyes continue to follow Byleth as she walks back to her desk, which is covered with papers. A map of Adrestia is pinned to the wall above it, and there are small piles of paper strewn across the room. “Then I hope I’m not bothering you.”

The lamp is burning low.

She frowns at the mess on her desk before looking back at him. “You can bother me whenever you want,” she says offhandedly, in such a way that it makes Claude smile. “I’ve missed you.”

He steps towards her, careful not to knock over any paper stacks, and wraps his arms around her. “I know it’s only been a few days, but I missed you too.” It takes Byleth a moment to relax into his embrace. Claude can feel the tension across her shoulders. But eventually, she turns into him, letting herself melt against him while her hands fisting at the fabric of his shirt.

Slowly, he walks them both back towards the bed, where he sits down and moves back so that he’s leaning against the wall, keeping Byleth in his arms. She moves with him, turning so that she can rest her cheek against his shoulder, sitting sideways across his lap.

He smooths a hand down her arm, and says, “I read Jeralt’s journal.”

Immediately, she tenses up again, raising her head and turning to face him completely, her legs coming to rest on either side of his. “And?”

“It doesn’t change how I feel about you, or anything else, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

But Byleth frowns and takes one of his hands, placing it over her heart. “It’s true. I don’t have a heartbeat.”

Claude’s not surprised to find that there’s nothing. Where there should be a steady beat there is only silence.

“You’re still human, Byleth.”

Her lips thin as if she disagrees. “That’s not all.”

The hand that had pressed his hand to her chest retreats, but Claude grabs it, gently brushing a thumb over her wrist. No heartbeat, but a pulse that’s hammering away. “What is it?”

“Sothis.”

He blinks. “The goddess?”

“Yes. I think… I think whatever Rhea did, something happened she never expected. I was able to talk to Sothis.” Byleth grimaces like she knows exactly how ridiculous her next words sound. “In my head.”

Claude digests this – what should be an unbelievable statement. Except he believes her. He takes a deep breath. “All your life?”

Byleth shakes her head. “No. I used to dream about her, but it wasn’t until the night I met you that she spoke to me, properly.”

Claude remembers that night well. “The night you saved us from the bandits.”

She nods. “That night, she saved my life.”

His hands find her waist, holding her tight, as he searches her face. There’s a grim determination on it as she looks at him, no doubt looking to see how he’s reacting to what she’s saying.

“How?” He asks.

“I took an attack for Edelgard. An axe, in my back.” She shifts her shoulders like she’s remembering how it felt. “Sothis turned back time.”

Claude’s eyebrows raise as he thinks back, remembering one of the bandits charging, and how Byleth had seemed to react inhumanly fast, deflecting it and disarming the bandit, knocking him back.

“Huh.”

But Byleth isn’t done yet. “And then Sothis gifted that power to me.”

Claude stares at her. “You can turn back time?”

“It has limits, but yes.”

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, staring at her in amazement as his mind works that over – the power, the possibilities of it. Eventually, he shakes his head and says, “You really are amazing, aren’t you?”

He’d meant the words fondly but it makes Byleth tense all over again. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks carefully, mind still racing.

“Like you’re putting me on a pedestal. I’m not a goddess. And I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

Claude sighs, hating the frown on her face, and knowing that he’d already begun thinking of how useful this could be. What’s more, Byleth knows him well enough to also know what he’s thinking. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s just– it is incredible. But I think you’re amazing, anyway.”

His words seem to be doing little to ease Byleth’s tension. “But you believe me?”

“Of course I do. I know you’d never lie about something like that, as unbelievable as it sounds.” He pauses, as he thinks back over this, combined with what he’d read in Jeralt’s journal. He remembers how Rhea had looked at Byleth and how it had changed – before and after she’d gone through her transformation.

He picks up a lock of green hair. “When this happened…”

“It was the last time I saw or spoke to Sothis, I think,” she confirms. “She gave me her power to escape from the place Solon sent me.”

“You think?”

“I _think_ she spoke to me just before I woke up a few months ago, but it’s fuzzy. Hard to remember. I don’t know if it was just a dream.”

He nods, still playing with her hair. “I remember how Rhea looked at you, after this happened. And that ritual she made you go through.” He’d been so annoyed at the time that he wasn’t allowed to accompany her, having been told only the Blue Lions would be going with Rhea and Byleth for the ceremony.

He should have been there.

A flash of real anger crosses Byleth’s face. “She thought Sothis would return, I’m sure of it.”

Claude’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“She kept asking if I remembered things, if certain things were familiar… but now I’m sure she wasn’t talking to _me_, she was talking to Sothis. Because whatever Rhea did to me when I was a baby, that’s why Sothis is a part of me, and she was obviously hoping that this Rite would mean Sothis’s return.”

“The Goddess Rite of Rebirth,” Claude breaths, still feeling chilled. “Of course.” He shakes his head. “I always wondered why she seemed to covet you, but it’s because Sothis was a part of you.”

“And if that Rite had worked, I’d be gone,” Byleth says bitterly.

“Did Rhea know you could speak to Sothis?”

She shakes her head. “I never told her anything if I could help it. My father always told me not to trust her, so I didn’t.”

Claude nods, feeling that old familiar anger at Rhea rising up again.

“Anyway,” Byleth continues, “Sothis would never have done it, even if she was still around then. I think… I think she’d have been appalled by what Rhea was trying to do.”

Leaning his head back, Claude stares up at the ceiling for a moment. “I don’t know what’s harder to wrap my head around,” he admits. “You having a goddess in your head, or you being able to turn back time. But–“ He drops his head forward again to meet her eyes. “Thank you for telling me.” He has a lot of questions, particularly about how exactly this turning back time business works, but he holds off it when Byleth gives him a wan smile in return. She looks exhausted. Instead, he just asks, “Have you used it a lot?”

“More than I’d like,” she murmurs, reaching up to brush some loose strands of his hair back.

The haunted look in her eyes make Claude pause, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out why. “You’ve used it in battle.”

It’s not a question, because _of course_ she’s used it in battle. If he had power like that…

Byleth nods. “But it doesn’t always work. I couldn’t save Jeralt.”

“Why not?”

“Sothis said it was fate. Some things can’t be changed. I–“ She sighs. “It was the same with Lorenz. I tried to convince him, over and over again. But no matter what I said, it didn’t help. And there’s only so many times I can use it before I run out of strength.”

_Lorenz_, _you idiot_. Grief spears Claude. For Lorenz, for Byleth. For all of them. “Thank you, for trying,” he says, voice hoarse. “Byleth,” he whispers. “How many of them have you seen die?”

She has the most heartbreaking expression on her face. “Too many.”

He understands why she has nightmares a little better now. Lightly, he brushes a thumb across the delicate skin under her eye, dark and bruised. There’s nothing he can say to make any of this better. He wishes there was, that he could wrap her up in warm words, a balm to the invisible wounds no one else would ever know existed.

But he can’t. He can’t even fathom what it is to have such a power, even as a part of his mind works through the _possibilities_ of it.

He should have been with her. She should never have been dealing with all this alone.

Judith was right when she’d told him, some time ago, that he could have been doing more. Not just for the Alliance, but for Byleth, too. And probably the Kingdom.

He can’t promise she won’t have to watch anyone else die, because that’s a lie, and even though he’ll lie to everyone else with a smile on his face, he never wants to lie to her. All he can say, between soft kisses that she greedily returns, is this. “We’ll end this, soon. And I’ll be here.”

“You’d better be,” she mutters, grasping his hair and tilting his head back to kiss down his neck while her other hand pulls open the collar of his shirt. He moans when she lightly bites down on his skin, before soothing it with her tongue. Byleth’s legs on either side of him tighten, and he can feel himself hardening against her as she begins to grind down. The temptation to grab her hips and seek that friction is high, but Claude can’t turn off his brain enough to stop thinking about what she’s just told him.

“By.” It comes out as too much of a moan to sound like anything other than encouragement. He tries again. “Byleth, stop.”

Immediately she raises her head, eyes searching his. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just think we should wait to do _this_–“ he squeezes her hips for emphasis “–sometime when you’re not, forgive me for saying, sad and exhausted.”

Byleth’s look turns rueful as she brushes her thumb over his lips. “You’re right, I’m just trying to distract myself.” She brushes his hair back. “I’m sorry, Claude.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” he says gently. He gets it. It’s so tempting to fall headfirst into the distraction – especially when it feels like they’ve been waiting so long for it, and they both know how good it will be – but the weight of their conversation hangs heavy. In a way, he wishes he could turn off his brain and enjoy her kisses and enjoy her body – especially when he can’t be sure how long he’ll have it. But… but he wants to do this right. He smiles, leaning into her touch. “But if it makes you feel better, I forgive you, because I know I am very distracting.”

“You always have been.” As she speaks, Byleth pulls his collar back into place, as if to cover up just how distracting he is. Her fingers brush across his skin, soft and warm. “Are you staying?”

His reply is immediate. “Always.”

.

Their army has been bolstered by the Alliance forces, as well as those from western Faerghus who swore fealty to Dimitri after his win at Fhirdiad. Even now, more are joining Dimitri’s cause, abandoning the Empire in a way that makes Claude think of rats fleeing a sinking ship. Perhaps it’s an uncharitable comparison, but there’s no denying the strong position Faeghus is now in – something that was unthinkable not that long ago.

However, the fact remains: Fort Merceus has a reputation for a reason. And Edelgard has been reinforcing the fort since before the attack on Derdriu. She still has a large and formidable army, and there’s always the risk of her marching that army north before Dimitri is ready to take it on.

Not all of the Kingdom scouts sent out return, falling to the enemy. And for those that make it back, much of the news is grim. A well rested army, with more numbers than any of them had expected the Empire to have after both Gronder and Derdriu. And at the head of it, defending the fort himself, is the Death Knight.

Their own army – that now encompasses former Faerghus and Leicester soldiers – is tired. There had been Gronder, Fhirdiad, and Derdriu. All in quick succession. And that’s not even counting the smaller skirmishes while they deal with bandits or clash with pockets of the Empire army still lurking about Leicester or Faerghus. And while they have numbers, they could throw every single person at that fortress and still it would not buckle under the weight of their deaths.

Claude listens carefully at these meetings, frowning to himself. None of the ideas put forward will get them near Fort Merceus. He knows this. They all must know this. They cannot afford a siege, but they cannot get to Enbarr without taking the fort.

He listens, while forming his own plan – although he keeps quiet about it for the moment while quietly working on it in the background with Hilda. No need to announce it until he’s sure, but he’s also certain it won’t take too long to put into place, especially not when he receives a letter from an old friend.

.

Claude shores up questions to ask Byleth about the Divine Pulse, and she answers them with the same readiness she’d answered his probing questions when he was a student. There’s both a weariness and a relief about her when she talks about it, and he hopes that by sharing the burden she’ll find it easier to bear.

“Have you ever used it outside of battle?” This is a question he asks a couple of nights later, during their new routine of curling up together on Byleth’s bed and talking quietly until they fall asleep. It’s too small for both of them, really, but they learn to fit together quickly.

They both sleep better together.

“Just once,” she says, the answer a sigh. “Right after I woke up and realised how much time had passed, and what had happened… I thought maybe if I tried hard enough I could rewind the last five years. But I really can’t go back that far. All it did was exhaust me.”

She hasn’t spoken much on the immediate aftermath of her awakening, and when she does, Claude feels like she’s downplaying how difficult she found it. She’d lost her father, and then she’d lost her entire life.

But maybe that’s just Byleth. She’s far more expressive now than she’d been before, but she’s still rather stoic, especially around other people. He gets the majority of her smiles and laughs, though he can see how she’s bonded with the others.

One evening, Byleth laughs – loudly for her – at something he says over dinner, and Ingrid and Dorothea sitting with them both stop and look at her – Ingrid in clear surprise while Dorothea smiles widely, beaming at Byleth.

It’s not long after that Byleth has to leave – more meetings, this time with Seteth and Alois – and Dorothea turns her attention to Claude.

“I’m glad you’re here, Claude.” Her expression dims. “I hated that we had to fight the Alliance at Gronder.”

Ingrid nods in agreement, but her mouth is too full to speak.

“I’m relieved we worked things out,” he replies honestly.

“I’m still surprised you handed Dimitri the Alliance,” Dorothea goes on. “I’ve never heard of nobles giving up power like that.”

He shoots her a smile. “You should know by now, Dorothea, that I’m not exactly like the other nobles.”

Ingrid’s eyebrows raise as she swallows her food. “Am I to be insulted by that?”

“Of course not.” Claude decides to tread carefully – this conversation could easily come around to Lorenz or Ferdinand’s deaths and there’s no point in upsetting everyone. “You remember some of the nobles in Derdriu, don’t you? Those self important speeches, all so well pleased with themselves. You’re not like that either.”

“No, I suppose not.” Ingrid is studying him carefully. Claude had forgotten how intense she could sometimes be. They hadn’t been close while they’d been at the Academy, but she’d chided him for what she’d perceived as laziness and then made some vague comparisons of him to Sylvain. He wonders if she still thinks that now, that he’s still unreliable.

From the look on her face, he thinks the answer is yes. But he supposes it doesn’t really matter. He doesn’t need Ingrid’s trust like he needs Dimitri’s.

Dorothea laughs and leans in to Ingrid, brushing their shoulders together. It seems to get Ingrid to loosen up a bit, turning her head towards Dorothea with a tiny smile on her face. “Ingrid _definitely_ is nothing like those stuffy, lazy nobles.”

Claude doesn’t miss the way Ingrid blushes – both at the comment and Dorothea’s close proximity.

Then Dorothea focuses on Claude again. “But you, I’m not so sure. Not that you’re lazy or stuffy, but I’m sure you have a plan for yourself after this war and I’m sure it involves something important.” Her eyes glitter, searching his face for a moment. “You should have been on the stage, Claude von Riegan.”

He smiles placidly at her. “I’m a terrible singer.”

“Hmm.” Dorothea taps her chin with her finger. “I doubt that.” She glances at Ingrid. “He’s like Sylvain, isn’t he? Annoyingly good at everything without even trying.”

_Another_ comparison to Sylvain. Claude wonders if he should feel insulted.

“Or just annoying,” Ingrid replies.

He keeps smiling, ignoring Ingrid’s comment. “Perhaps you’re right, Dorothea. You know, Derdriu has an opera house. Maybe not as grand as the Mittlefrank, but impressive enough, right by the sea. Shall we put on a show together after the war?”

“Aren’t you always putting on a show?” she asks demurely.

He laughs. “You got me.”

“Anyway,” Dorothea goes on. “I would never take you away from the Professor.”

_You couldn’t_, he thinks, even though he knows she’s not being serious.

“She certainly seems happier with you around.” Ingrid sounds a little detached as she says it, and Claude glances at her to see her frowning at her food.

“She does, doesn’t she?” Unlike Ingrid, Dorothea is clearly pleased. “It’s so nice to see her smile like that. I’ve hardly ever heard her laugh before! She’s had such a hard time and no one to rely on. It’s good she has you.”

Claude recalls what little he knows of Dorothea’s background – it’s probably not a surprise that she’s more observant in this regard than some of the other Blue Lions.

Ingrid still looks despondent. “It is. We all relied on her too much.” She looks up, meeting Claude’s eyes. “I should have done better.”

“We all should have,” he says candidly. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Just do better now.”

“Ah, but that’s what Ingrid does. Strives for that knightly Faerghus perfection.” Dorothea smiles as she says it, but there’s a sad edge to it. Actually, Claude thinks there’s a certain kind of longing in it.

“Admirable,” he says with a smile slowly edging into a smirk. “But boring. Maybe you should join Dorothea on the stage, Ingrid. The pegasus knight and the beloved songstress. It would make quite the stunning duo.”

“Oh!” Ingrid blushes. “Well – I can’t sing either.”

He shrugs. “So just let Dorothea serenade you while you look all knightly. The crowds would love it.”

Ingrid flushes harder, eyes darting to Dorothea before returning to her plate. Dorothea leans forward, raising an eyebrow at Claude almost in warning. “Now, now, Claude, don’t tease my dear Ingrid, especially not after she came to your aid in Derdriu.”

He concedes with a tilt of his head. “Fair enough.” Turning his attention back to Ingrid. “Thank you, by the way. Your timing was impeccable on that. I was beginning to think we might not make it.”

“I’m sure you had something up your sleeve,” Ingrid responds dryly. “But… you’re welcome, Claude. And I am truly glad we could help.”

Dorothea nods. “It all worked out,” she says softly, eyes growing distant. “None of our friends had to die that day.”

Ingrid looks at her in concern, gently resting her hand over Dorothea’s, and not even Claude has it in him to tease them about it.

.

When he can, Claude watches Dimitri carefully.

Most people are watching Dimitri, but not for the same reasons as Claude. He’s accepted that Dimitri will be a good king. There are no regrets about what he’s done – Claude’s known he can’t rule both Almyra and Fódlan effectively himself. He was always going to have to give up his role as Duke eventually, even if now it’s left him in a strange position while he remains on Fódlan. It’s a little amusing at times, though, especially when people don’t know how to address him, either giving him too much importance or not enough – the latter of which seems to bother Dimitri more than Claude.

No, he watches Dimitri around Byleth. He’s not jealous or worried about their relationship – he trusts her, and that extends to all areas, even if they haven’t had a conversation about the boundaries of their _own_ relationship. But he’s so curious about what Dimitri thinks about it all, and if it will have any bearing on how he treats Teach.

It doesn’t, thankfully. Dimitri looks at Byleth with real warmth, treats her with respect, and seeks out her companionship and advice. Occasionally Dimitri takes her hands in his and holds them like they’re the most fragile thing in the world. It doesn’t do anything to change Claude’s previous assessment on Dimitri’s feelings about Byleth, but he’s glad that Dimitri seems to have been truthful when he’d told Claude he’d like to be Byleth’s friend.

Sometimes Teach returns Dimitri’s warmth, and sometimes Claude can see that she’s exhausted. He can see that Byleth cares a lot for Dimitri, but that it’s hard for her to forget what’s come before even if she says she’s forgiven him.

But Claude does think that someday – after this war is over – they will be friends.

Dimitri watches both of them too, sometimes. It’s not like he and Byleth have done anything that could be seen as inappropriate or more than friendly in public, but gossip gets everywhere, and anything scandalous that one of their leaders might be getting up catches everyones attention. Byleth doesn’t like it because she doesn’t like being Archbishop, but at least the Blue Lions – the people she might call friends – have enough respect for her to not make it more difficult.

While Claude has plenty of meetings with Dimitri, sometimes just the two of them, Dimitri doesn’t bring up Byleth beyond professional reasons. Claude gets the impression he might be a little embarrassed about their last conversation about her – that Dimitri has realised he let too much slip.

.

While he asks Byleth about her goddess given power, she asks him about Almyra, listening to his descriptions of the capital, the white marble of the palace, the green of the trees against the sky that he always remembers as being bluer than in Fódlan. He tells her about learning to ride wyverns when he was a child, and about the importance of the beasts in Almyra. How he’d trained with a bow, as expected from a prince, but his father made sure his instructor trained him in axes and swords, too.

“But you know they’re not my preferred style, Teach,” he murmurs from where his head rests on her chest. “Work from a distance, hit them in the throat before they know it, and always have an escape plan.”

She makes that _hmm_ sound that lets him know she thinks he’s full of shit but is being too nice to that blunt. “Then what was Derdriu?” Her fingers trail through his hair.

“Haven’t I made it clear? You were my escape plan.”

She shakes her head, but stays silent. Claude nuzzles into her, rubbing his face between her breasts, privately lamenting at the fabric separating them. Byleth gives a short laugh, still playing with his hair.

Around the topic of his intentions to be king and everything surrounding it, she seems reticent to ask about. Claude doesn’t push, waiting for her to be ready. Meanwhile, she seems interested in just about everything else.

After a time, she asks, “You said something about a midsummer festival? With fire? What’s that like?”

He rolls his head back so he can see her face as he talks, taking in every minute change in her expression as he talks about the fires that rise high into the sky, and the music and the dancing and the food that he still misses every day. That she wants to know so much about Almyra is a heady feeling – so many in Fódlan think the worst of Almyra, and all he’s told her previously to this is that people have tried to kill him and his mother. So sharing the good parts and the pieces he loves with her, fills him with something he hadn’t been expecting.

It might be the most peaceful he’s ever felt in his life.

.

While the Blue Lions might respect Byleth enough not to bother her about her relationship with him, some of them don’t extend Claude that courtesy.

“So. You and the Professor.”

Claude lowers his axe. “Is there a question in there, Sylvain?” He brushes sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, a little out of breath. He’s in the training ground with Hilda – who is a little more diligent with such things these days. Felix is also there, unsurprisingly, although he’d done nothing more than grunt in acknowledgement at Claude and Hilda when they’d arrived.

Opposite him, Hilda also lowers her training axe, heaving a sigh in Sylvain’s direction.

Felix ignores them all, the steady hit of his sword against the training dummy loud in the still air.

“No, not really,” Sylvain answers, twirling a training lance. “Just thinking that there are many who consider you quite the lucky man.”

Claude shrugs, matching Sylvain’s fake nonchalance. “They’d be right.”

“Are _you_ one of those people, Sylvain?” Hilda asks, sweet as pie, but Claude darts his eyes towards Felix, wondering if she’s about to poke a very prickly bear who is carrying around two real swords in addition to his training one.

“I sure am.” Sylvain makes eyes at Hilda, smiling in an almost predatory way. He should know that it’s entirely useless against Hilda. “The Professor is quite the woman.”

They all hear the _ugh_ from Felix, but otherwise there’s no response, and he keeps up his barrage on the training dummy.

Sylvain goes on. “But I still can’t help but worry. You have quite the reputation, Claude.”

Hilda snorts. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Different kind of reputation, Hilda, my lovely.” Sylvain flashes her a toothy grin, all insincerity. “My father used to talk about how Duke Riegan really should marry. You know, when he wasn’t talking about how _I_ should marry. Always found it strange how there weren’t even any rumours of a dalliance. Even in Faerghus we heard about all that kind of stuff. And now, here you are, cosying up to the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros. Never thought you were a believer.”

Claude represses a sigh. He’s sure Sylvain is coming from a place of concern, even if he’s being an ass about it. “What, you think I’m trying some scheme on Teach? _After_ voluntarily stepping down as leader of the Alliance?”

“You’re known as a schemer for a reason, Claude.” Sylvain narrows his eyes. “And if you hurt–“

“Sylvain.” Felix barks out his name, finally turning away from the training dummy. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Running a hand through his hair, Sylvain turns to Felix, looking a little exasperated. “C’mon, Felix, don’t you think it’s strange?”

“No. You’re making it out like he’s the same as the women who used to be after your Crest when anyone can see you’re wrong.” Felix responds, impatience in his voice. “And don’t take out your guilt on Claude.” He glances briefly at Claude before turning away again, and then says by way of explanation. “We let the Professor take on too much, before.”

Claude remembers what Ingrid had said. Clearly they’ve all been talking about this.

“Yes.” Claude is even in his reply. “You did.” He wonders exactly what Felix means by _before_, and guesses he means before Dimitri regained his senses.

Felix tilts his head in acknowledgement of Claude’s words.

Hilda looks at Sylvain with an impressively scornful expression. “Were you really going to give Claude the _if you hurt her, you’ll have to answer to me_ talk? You – of all people?” She laughs, incredulous, and talks over Sylvain as he attempts to respond. “And let me tell you – my brother has tried that about me and it was ridiculous then. Saying it about the Professor is possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Felix laughs, and Claude’s sure he’s never heard the man sound so amused before. “She’s right.”

“Ah.” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “I suppose.”

Hilda goes on. “You know the Professor could pick Claude up and snap him in half if she wanted. Look at him!” She gestures vaguely at Claude. “He can hardly lift that axe. Why else do you think I’m training with him? He’d be lost without me.”

“Hey–“ Claude starts, objecting to this line of defence.

“So the Professor hardly needs _your_ protection.” Ignoring Claude, Hilda looks at Sylvain critically from head to toe, and clearly finds him lacking. “Maybe you should work on yourself, first.”

“Wow.” Sylvain stares at Hilda, looking slightly impressed. “Felix, she’s mean.”

“You deserved it,” is Felix’s mild response, his attention already back on the training dummy.

Hilda gives him her most winning smile. “I figured you were into that.”

Sylvain smiles too, but this time it’s more genuine. “Yeah, I can see why you think that.” He glances at Felix who ignores them all, even while his ears turn red. Then he turns his attention to Claude, grimacing slightly. “I suppose I should apologise.”

Claude waves a hand, deciding to be magnanimous even while there’s a part of him that wants to antagonise Sylvain. “It’s fine.”

“If you’re all done with this, might I suggest getting back to something more important?” Felix spares them all another chilly look.

All three of them stare at him expectantly, each of them remaining silent.

Felix’s glare intensifies when they don’t reply, his face going red, and Claude sees Hilda bite her lip so she doesn’t laugh.

“_Training_,” Felix finally snaps when they don’t respond or make a move. “Stop looking at me like that. You all look stupid.”

.

Later, as he and Hilda leave the training grounds, Claude says, “You know, I’m more than capable of fighting my own battles, but that was impressive.”

Hilda shrugs. “He was being annoying. And ridiculous. Sylvain, of all people, acting like that! _Honestly_. And it’s silly for him to be like that when you clearly make the Professor happy. If he cares for her, he should respect that.”

Claude grins, and loops her arm in his as they make their way towards the dining hall. “You’ve grown very wise.”

She sighs, like it’s a burden. “I know. You can repay me by getting my food. I’m exhausted.”

.

He wakes up the next morning, supremely comfortable – lying on his back, with Byleth stretched out across him. Her bare legs tangle with his, and the shirt she always slept in had ridden up around her hips.

Claude rests his hands under the fabric, on the soft skin of her back.

Usually, Byleth wakes up first. She seems less tired than she’d been at Derdriu and while it’s likely due to having a short reprieve from being on the road with the army, Claude likes to think he’s at least a little responsible for it. And while Claude’s generally an early riser – up with the dawn and all that – Byleth always seems to be awake earlier. Already he’s become used to waking up, still groggy as she kisses him goodbye before heading to the training grounds with Felix, or to an an early meeting with Seteth.

He feels slightly victorious to have woken up first, and to be able to see her like this, peaceful and trusting. Sunlight filters in through a gap in the curtains, catching her hair that’s as wild as it is soft. As much as Claude would like to wake her up with a kiss, he lets her sleep on, enjoying the sight of her without the furrow in her brow or a frown on her face.

And he knows, with a sudden clarity, that he loves her.

It’s not a new thought to occur to him, but it’s never been so clear before. It’s never been so clear and true that she’s part of his dream as much as anything else, and he’ll do whatever he can to have both. The sun rises in the east, and Claude loves Byleth.

Those thoughts are still rattling in his head when she wakes, rumpled and soft and, he thinks, completely adorable. She’d hate the description and it’s probably not the way anyone else would describe Byleth. Hilda wasn’t exactly _wrong_ when she’d said that Byleth could pick him up and snap him in half. But Claude can think of no other way to describe her half lidded gaze and lazy smile she gives him as she lifts herself to kiss him after a raspy _good morning_.

He doesn’t say the words he wants to – not yet. Instead he pours it into the kiss and hopes she understands.

.

It’s later that same day that Claude watches a wyvern depart Garreg Mach, holding the letter it’s rider has just delivered in his hand.

A wry smile curls up on his face as he reads it again – even if the writer has the disrespect to still refer to him as _kiddo_ – before turning and making his way to the Cardinal’s Room.

The letter sits heavy in his pocket. It’s contents reveal too much for him to hand over, but it’s what he’s been waiting for.

As soon as he enters the room, Byleth’s head raises from the map she’s been looking over. Immediately a smile spreads across her face, eyes brightening.

With a wink and a returning smile, Claude greets the other two men in the room – Dimitri and Gilbert.

“How can we help you, Claude?” Dimitri asks politely.

He gets right to the issue. “Are you still trying to figure out the Fort Merceus problem?” He knows they are – he’s been present at enough meetings – but he’s still been keeping his opinions to himself, not wanting to give any reason for someone to think there was friction between him and Dimitri. There had been no point in suggesting his plan until he’d worked out if he could do it.

Dimitri nods, and Gilbert responds, “Yes, it is proving to be last, but significant obstacle before we march on the Imperial capital.”

Byleth tilts her head at him, an expectant look on her face.

Claude’s smile turns into a grin. He keeps the letter in his pocket, and extends his arms with a flourish.

“I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude talking about trusting Byleth and Dimitri to show up and save his arse at Derdiu: “Heavy risk, but the _[prizzzzzze](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gGShiM1Exc)_.”
> 
> I’ve been making an attempt to write a Dorogrid piece for femslash February and holy fuck is Ingrid hard to write. This chapter was definitely practice.
> 
> Next up: Fort Merceus and what route is this supposed to be anymore? We Just Don't Care.


	14. Chapter 14

Dimitri listens to Claude outline his plan with a conflicted expression. Byleth can understand why. It’s not something that he or any of his advisors – and she includes herself in that – would _ever_ have come up with.

But it has merit. It’s Claude – he’d never propose anything that _didn’t_ have merit. And Byleth had known he’d been up to something. Claude isn’t one to be kept idle. 

Well, not that anyone in the monastery is kept _idle_, but she hadn’t expected Claude to only stick to the duties assigned him.

She does wonder what Dimitri will think whenever he finds out that someday Claude will be a fellow king he’ll have to work with – king of a land traditionally at odds with Fódlan. And that Claude will know everything about Dimitri’s country, people, army… 

Not that Claude intends to use that knowledge in a way that would harm Fódlan – the opposite, really. Byleth more thinks that Dimitri – and others, like Hilda – will be hurt that Claude chose to keep this side of himself hidden from them for so long.

But these are thoughts for another day. She can’t think about it now, especially not when thinking about Claude as a king and the large question of that means for her, personally, is something she really cannot afford to be distracted by.

So instead, Byleth keeps watching Dimitri while she listens to Claude, gauging his reaction. 

The problem with Fort Merceus is this – they might be able to take it, but they have to do it very soon, before Edelgard can reinforce it even further. It’s before they’re truly ready to do so. They might be able to take it with the combined numbers of the Kingdom and Alliance, but it would absolutely result in a high death count. 

And even then, it remains a _might_. Many battles are, of course. If only success could be always guaranteed. But Fort Merceus, with its reputation already embedding failure in the minds of too many of their troops and the presence of the death knight demoralising them further, is more complicated.

Dimitri’s compassion, buried for so long under his hate and vengeance, has come back in full force. He’s balking at the idea of sending so much troops to be used as cannon fodder, destined to die so he can ride over their corpses to get to Enbarr. Because that’s what it would take.

It’s not a moral problem he would have had a couple of months ago, and Byleth is so, _so_ grateful for the change. Dimitri’s attitude, sincere and genuine, breaks down another brick in the wall she’d unconsciously built up to defend herself against him. 

So while she wouldn’t change it for anything, it’s an attitude that’s left them in a dilemma. 

And now Claude has provided what might be an unorthodox solution. 

Dimitri sums it up when Claude finishes speaking. “You want us to send a scout, disguised as being from the Empire, informing them that more troops fleeing Leicester are on the way. And these troops will in fact be a small contingent of our army, in disguise. And on our way to Merceus, we will be attacked by Kingdom and Alliance troops to keep up the charade.” 

Claude nods. “We couldn’t just show up unannounced now, could we? That would be suspicious.” 

Gilbert looks sceptical. “You expect this subterfuge to work?” His tone shows his doubts, but Claude just smiles. 

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

Byleth has been picking the plan apart in her mind. “Do you think someone like the Death Knight will fall for it?”

Claude’s eyes swing to hers, sending that still unfamiliar but entirely pleasant jolt through her stomach. “He just needs to fall for it long enough. Once we’re in, we can set up a flare for the wyvern and pegasus riders to move in to assist. We’ll have to keep the foot soldiers far enough away so that they don’t ruin our deception – they won’t be able to help.”

Byleth nods slowly, mulling it over. “You seem confident,” she says mildly, hiding a smile.

“With you leading us, who wouldn’t be,” he replies with a winning smile of his own that makes her face warm. 

Beside her, Dimitri shifts and coughs. “Yes, well. We know we can trust the Professor to guide us well. But Claude – this is risky.”

Claude’s head tilts to the side in acknowledgement. “It’s just a plan – it’s up to you whether to act on it or not, your Princeliness. But if you _do_ decide to go ahead with it, I’ve already sourced some Empire uniforms for us. I’ve been in touch with Judith, back in Derdriu. She’s been surprisingly helpful.”

“A most impressive woman,” Gilbert states with a nod.

“I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear you say that,” Claude responds dryly.

Byleth resists the urge to laugh, instead focusing on the practicalities. “We might not have enough fliers as back-up. Merceus is big.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Claude says. His tone is almost dismissive, but there’s a glint in his eyes. “I’ve been in touch with some people who might be able to help with that, too.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows furrow. “Are you going to elaborate?”

There’s just the tiniest, _tiniest_ second of hesitation from Claude. So small that Byleth suspects the others in the room don’t even notice it. But then Claude smiles, one that is well practiced and guarded. “I’d rather wait, if you don’t mind. But they can be trusted.” 

_I can be trusted_, Byleth thinks is really what he’s saying. 

And then she wonders. _Some people_, Claude says. _Almyrans_? 

She raises her eyebrows at him and his smile turns a little mischievous for her only, and Byleth knows what the answer is. 

.

“How annoying for you is it?” Byleth asks Claude later, once they’re alone. The afternoon had been spent in further discussion of the plan, with many of the others appearing and their thoughts being shared. Most of them are wary even while they know that a full frontal assault on the Fort is, ultimately, just as risky. Byleth’s a little amused by the different reactions from the Blue Lions and the Golden Deer. Hilda and Marianne both seem to take Claude’s plan on board far easier than many of the others, who seem unable to let go of Faerghus’s chivalrous ideals, even if they don’t quite realise they’ve ingrained them.

Byleth is unsurprised that Ashe and Dorothea are the first two of them to see how it will work. 

And she can see by Dimitri’s attitude as the day goes on that he’s seeing it too. He’s willing to trust Claude, and do this.

Now, everyone has left – for food, for training, for more work. Who knows. Byleth doesn’t really care, more focused on the man standing too far away from her.

Like he guesses her thoughts, Claude steps closer to where Byleth is leaning against the table. He slides a hand around her waist with a sigh of relief, like it’s been torture to stand in the same room as her for hours and not touch her. 

That’s how it had felt to Byleth. More than once she’d felt the urge to creep her hand across the table to curl around his. Some of his hair had fallen forward into his eyes and she’d lifted her hand to brush it back before catching herself. 

His hip presses into her. “How annoying is what, Teach?” he asks playfully.

“Having to go through someone else like this. If you were still leader of the Alliance, you wouldn’t have to defer to anyone to carry out your plans.” She lets her hands smooth up his chest and over his neck, rubbing her palms against his beard, making him lean into her like a satisfied cat.

“It would probably be worse if it were someone else and not Dimitri, but still… I hate it,” he admits. She’s not surprised by his answer. It’s clearly not easy for him to give up control. Claude goes on. “I keep in mind that I’ve taken one step back in order to take two steps – endless steps – forward in future.”

“And these people who’ll be helping us – old friends of yours?”

His lips twitch. “That’s one way of putting it.” His voice lowers and Claude turns a touch more serious. “You don’t mind that I didn’t mention all this to you before?”

Byleth shakes her head. “I knew you were doing something, but I also knew you’d tell me when you _had_ something to tell me.”

Claude blinks, and then smiles again, that warm smile that feels like the sun on her skin. He turns to face her more fully, caging her against the table with his arms. Not that she minds. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, breath hot against her as he leans in, “for trusting me.” 

“Of course,” she replies, still cradling his face as she angles her own up to meet his lips. It starts soft, just a brush, but as always it leaves Byleth wanting more, and she knows Claude feels the same way. It’s an exquisite kind of torture to have him in her bed every night, to be so close but not close enough. 

But, well, most nights one or both of them are so exhausted that sleep is the only thing on their minds. 

But now, awake, with an equally awake Claude pressing between her legs – because now she’s seated on the edge of the table and she doesn’t even remember moving – sleep is the furthest thing from her mind. Every nerve springs to life as Claude opens his mouth to her, and the kiss turns deep. Longing. Claude keeps pressing against her and distantly Byleth is aware that she’s on her back on the table in the Cardinal’s Room, where anyone might walk in, with her legs hanging over the side. But somehow she forgets why that matters as her hands end up in Claude’s hair, mussing it up as she holds him close to her. One of his hands grabs her thigh, hiking her skirt up and hooking her leg around his waist. 

This time, when Claude presses against her, she arches back in reply, feeling him drag across her centre and making her whimper into his mouth. 

His fingers press tighter and then begin wandering up her thigh, while she attempts to pull his shirt out of his pants, desperate to feel some skin even while Claude continues to grind against her. 

Claude’s voice is rough as he growls against her mouth. “_By_, Byle–“

“Profes– _ah_!”

The sound of another voice has Claude jerking backwards with an alarmed look on his face. He pulls Byleth so that she’s sitting upright again, while also having the presence of mind to pull her skirt back down her thighs.

Byleth blinks, attempting to get her bearings, and stares for a beat of uncomfortable silence at the unwelcome intrusion. 

It’s Ingrid who had yelled in surprise upon seeing her and Claude. She’s standing in the doorway, looking away from them both with a blush on her face. Beside her is Dorothea, who just looks amused. 

“I’d apologise for interrupting,” Dorothea says with a smile, “but the door was wide open.”

By her side, Claude gives a huff of frustration. When Byleth glances up at him, he’s running a hand through his dishevelled hair – and the blush on his face matches that of Ingrid’s. She’s a little amused to see him so flustered. 

Moving to stand, Byleth grabs Claude’s hand, squeezing in silent support. He moves slightly behind her, and she wonders if it’s to hide his erection. The mere memory of it pressing against her sends a wave of longing rushing through her that she has to forcibly push away. “No, we’re sorry. We… got carried away.” _To say the least._

Dorothea laughs. “At least it was us who walked in and not Seteth.”

“True,” Claude mutters, colour still high on his face.

“Yes,” says Ingrid, gaining some composure and seeming to struggle with what to say. Byleth knows she’s given Sylvain some severe lectures for acting how she and Claude just had. She can’t help but wonder if she’ll attempt that with her. So she’s relieved when Ingrid just carries on, speaking stiffly. “We had something we wanted to ask you, Professor.”

“That’s right.” Dorothea takes over, far more at ease. “We’re here on behalf of Annette, who has offered to cook for us and has asked if you’d like to join us for dinner tonight, Professor. Mercedes will be there too, of course.” Her eyes twinkle as she looks at Claude. “Sorry, Claude, ladies only.”

Claude seems to be recovering his composure, although he remains unusually quiet. He gives a small shrug in reply to Dorothea. 

Byleth is surprised. She eats with the others fairly often, but only because they happen to be in the same place at the same time. This kind of invitation is unexpected. 

She hasn’t even had tea time with anyone since they’d been students. At first there had been no tea, and then there had seemed to be no time. But she _could_ have made the time. Claude isn’t the only person she cares for.

So Byleth smiles and nods. “That sounds nice. I’d love to.” Squeezing Claude’s hand again, she glances sidelong at him. 

He gives her a rueful smile in return, and something occurs to Byleth. 

“Have you invited Hilda and Marianne?” 

Dorothea’s eyes widen. “Oh! We really should, shouldn’t we?”

“I can help cook, so Annette isn’t doing it all,” Byleth offers, but Dorothea waves the suggestion away.

“No, Professor,” Ingrid says, still a little grave. “We’ll take care of it. This is our treat. As a thank you, for all you’ve done.”

“Oh.” Byleth’s not sure how to reply to that, but she feels a swell of emotion. “Thank you. That’s… that’s very sweet of you all.”

She smiles at them both again, and even Ingrid softens under it, getting over her embarrassment. Arrangements made, both she and Dorothea take their leave. 

Their footsteps fade down the hallway, and it occurs to Byleth how entirely distracted both she and Claude had been to not hear them coming.

Claude drags a hand down his face. “I don’t suppose you could rewind time so that never happens?”

Stepping close to him again, Byleth touches his face. “I could, but I won’t.”

His mouth half lifts in a smile. “Cruel.” Taking her hand, he places a small kiss on it before saying, “No, I’m being unfair. You’ve made it clear how and when you use it, and saving me from my embarrassment isn’t it.” 

“That’s alright,” Byleth replies, glad he understands. “But it’s endearing to see you like that.” He opens his mouth and she carries on, “You’re going to make a deer pun, I can tell.”

He laughs. “You know me too well, my friend.”

“You don’t mind that you’re not invited to dinner?”

Claude shakes his head. “No, it’s nice that they’re doing something for you. Really, it’s the least they can do, considering all you do for them.” His tone is deceptively mild, but Byleth knows he’s at least a little bit angry with the others for how they’d let her shoulder so much. She thinks some of his anger is directed at himself, too. “It’s nice that you invited Hilda and Marianne.”

“I suppose if you really wanted to go, you could slip Hilda a sleeping potion and dress up as her to take her place.”

He laughs loudly at that. “I’d make a good Hilda.” Wrapping his arms around her, Claude places a kiss to the side of her head. “Sorry about getting carried away before.”

“I think there were two of us involved in that.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t hear them coming.”

“I know,” Byleth responds ruefully. “I can’t believe you’re so easily distracted.” 

“My friend, I wasn’t the only one.” 

“Mmm.” He’s still very distracting; colour still dusting his cheeks, eyes bright, clothes rumpled and hair dishevelled… 

Byleth sighs. 

Claude grins, likely guessing her thoughts. “I did promise Dimitri I’d take care of some things, didn’t I? So, I probably should get going.” He hugs her to him, lingering for another moment. When he pulls back, Byleth straightens his clothes and then frowns up at his hair, trying and failing to tidy it up.

“I’ve made a mess of you.”

His eyes darken and his voice lowers to a purr. “I don’t mind.”

Byleth’s hands still, and she resists the urge to yank his face back to hers and resume what Ingrid and Dorothea had interrupted. 

Instead, she drops her hands. “We should go.”

Claude’s tone turns wry. “Then you should stop looking at me like that.”

Byleth schools her face with some effort, but all it does is make Claude laugh again. “If you think looking stern will help, then you don’t know me at all.” He holds out his hand, and Byleth takes it. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your dinner date.”

.

Byleth often wakes up before Claude. While she sleeps better with him, she still never sleeps for long. But she doesn’t mind, because then she can take a moment to admire him, and some part of her is still unable to believe he’s here, in her bed, with her. 

She likes how relaxed he looks while he sleeps, the only time his burdens ease.

But it’s also this time of day when it’s harder to ignore the pressing issues, when her mind isn’t occupied by requisitions and troops and the church and people demanding her attention, and there’s just Claude.

But Claude – the Claude that is a prince and potential heir to the Almyran throne, is not something she’s quite ready to deal with. Because then she’ll have to think about what it will mean. Claude will be king – and Claude _will_ be king, no matter what obstacles he’ll have to face to get there. Byleth has faith in him. But then, he will be king, and she will be… what? 

Her mind always whispers the answer – _his queen_ – but she never holds onto that thought. It’s too big and nebulous – it seems ridiculous to contemplate in any real seriousness. It seems _presumptuous_ even if she’s not sure if she wants that – to be a queen.

But Claude has said he isn’t letting her go again, more than once. And she believes that. 

What remains to be seen is if he’ll get a choice. If Almyra might accept a half–Fódlan king, would they even accept someone like her?

Claude hasn’t shied away from telling her how Fódlan is viewed in Almyra. She gets the impression he’s trying to be completely honest with both the good and bad parts of his country. He wants her to know all this.

And Byleth knows that even if she’s not ready to think about the future after the war, Claude certainly is. He’s actively working _towards_ that future – pulling in Almyrans to help with Fort Merceus is just another step he’s taken towards it.

And she _knows_ he’s picturing her as part of that future, and she wishes she could so easily accept it, and picture it with him. 

There’s a part of Byleth that feels like she should be angry about it – that she’s expected to fall into what Claude wants the way she had to fall into what Dimitri wanted. 

But that’s unfair, because one day Claude will ask her and he’ll accept whatever answer she gives. He won’t drag her to Almyra.

But he won’t stay in Fódlan either, if that’s what Byleth wants to do. 

But if he were the kind of person who would stay if Byleth asked him, she’d never have fallen in love with him. Byleth loves him for who he is – a love that’s already reshaping and deepening in the weeks they’ve been reunited. It might have been easy to idealise Claude after she’d woken up and they were separated, but it’s nothing compared to the real version of him she has in her bed every night and by her side during the day. 

Does she even want to stay in Fódlan after the war? Isn’t there something to be said for starting a new adventure of your own choosing with the person you love?

There is, she knows, but she’s still not sure, especially not when it means trading one title for another. A guilt lingers as she thinks about it; the idea that she might be abandoning Dimitri and the others. Abandoning a war-torn country as soon as she can, shoving Rhea’s Archbishop title right back at her as soon as they find her, and _running_.

She wonders what her father would say. 

But Byleth thinks she knows. 

Claude’s eyes begin to flutter awake. His fingers flex against her side, and his lazy, morning smile spreads across his face before he even opens his eyes fully. 

So Byleth drags her thoughts away from the future to enjoy what she has now. They’ll be leaving for Merceus soon – she needs to make the most of these quiet, perfect moments. 

.

Lysithea meets them at the Bridge of Myrddin, Judith by her side.

Once again Byleth thinks that Judith is taking measure of both her and Dimitri, and thinks that she probably should have spoken more to her while she’d been in Derdriu. 

It’s not long before Judith directs her attention to Claude.

“We have your uniforms, boy.” 

“_Ugh_,” Byleth hears him exclaim under his breath, sounding annoyed, and Judith smirks. Then, louder, Claude says with somewhat fake politeness, “Thank you, Judith.” 

More sincerely, Dimitri gives a bow and responds, “You have our gratitude, Lady Daphnel.”

“Your Highness,” she replies smoothly with a nod of her head. “I must admit I’m surprised you’re going along with one of Claude’s schemes.”

“Do you have a better way into Merceus?” Claude asks, something of a challenge in his voice.

Judith shrugs. “Can’t say that I do. I am interested to see how this goes, so I’ll be accompanying you.” And then, her eyes slide back to Dimitri. “If His Highness will allow it.” 

“Of course, Lady Daphnel, we would be honoured by your presence.”

Beside her, Lyisthea speaks up. “I’m coming too. I hate sitting around and doing nothing.”

Unlike Judith, Lyisthea makes no effort to acknowledge Dimitri’s authority, but he doesn’t mind, and smiles at her. “Of course Lyisthea, we welcome you with us.”

Of course, it would be foolish to turn down help from people like Judith and Lysithea – a fearsome warrior and one of the most powerful magic users Byleth has ever seen. While Byleth had never taught Lysithea much, she’d seen enough to be impressed, and Claude speaks very highly of her. 

Lysithea nods, a hint of hesitancy around her. “There’s something else.”

Her tone gives Byleth pause and, it seems, the others. Claude steps closer to her, concern flashing across his face as his voice lowers. “What is it, Lysithea?”

“I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to read the most recent report from the scouts,” she begins. “But… they say that there are more of those strange mages at Merceus, like the ones at Gronder.”

The unexpected mention of Gronder makes Dimitri flinch slightly and Byleth frowns, knowing immediately who Lysithea is referring to. “I didn’t see them at Gronder, but I read the reports – do you mean the ones all dressed in black, with the masks? They were unusual enough for them to be mentioned over and over.”

Lysithea nods. “Yes. They don’t wear the uniform of the Empire because they’re not from the Empire. They’re from somewhere else.” She pauses to take a deep breath before continuing. “I believe that these are the same group of mages that performed blood experiments on the children of House Ordelia, years ago.”

Something in her tone makes dread crawl up Byleth’s spine. 

“Lysithea,” Dimitri whispers, clearly also picking up on it. “Were you… ?”

“Yes,” she says softly, glancing away for a second. But then she turns back to them all, clenching her fists with a challenging look in her eyes, as if daring any of them to pity her.

Claude recovers first, but Byleth can see what Lysithea has said – even without details – has shaken him. “Blood experiments,” he says, unable to conceal the anger in his voice. “Do you think they’re linked to the people who kidnapped Flayn for her blood, back at the monastery?”

“Yes.” Lysithea is empathic about it. “The Death Knight was involved then too, if you remember.”

Dimitri’s face clouds with anger. “I remember it well,” he says in a low voice. “We will defeat him at Merceus.” 

“Do you know anything else about them, Lysithea?” Byleth asks gently.

She shakes her head, pressing her hands together. “No. I wish I could tell you more.”

Claude places a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it and – thank you for telling us, Lysithea.”

She nods, keeping her head held high, determined to show no weakness.

It makes something in Byleth ache. What horrors so many of them have been through.

“There is one other thing,” Judith interjects, more softly than Byleth has ever heard her before. “Our scouts have reported that one of Count Bergliez’s sons is also stationed at the Fort. One of the Emperor’s generals that I believe you all know – Caspar?”

Claude exhales through his nose loudly.

“Yes,” Dimitri replies gravely. “He was at the Officer’s Academy.”

Byleth holds herself still. Caspar is another student she hadn’t known well, though he’d enthusiastically trained with her on several occasions. 

It shouldn’t matter. She’s going to kill countless people at Fort Merceus. Caspar shouldn’t be special; it’s selfish to already be mourning him when thousands will be mourning after the battle, either way. 

And this was always inevitable; they had known the former Black Eagles students all served Edelgard, ranking highly in her army and government. Ferdinand and Bernadetta are already dead. 

Fort Merceus is in Bergliez territory – _of course_ Caspar is there. 

She pulls herself back to the conversation, avoiding Claude’s look of concern. 

Caspar being at Merceus is regrettable, but it doesn’t change anything, and they all know that. 

It’s time to get the plan in motion. 

.

While Lysithea and Judith join, Claude leaves them at Myrddin, to go meet with his _old friends_. 

He casts a long look at Byleth as he settles into Meissa’s saddle, a look that stays with her. A look that says, _I can’t say goodbye to you the way I want to, but I’ll be back soon_.

And then he’s gone, soon disappearing to the east, and the group gathered to watch him leave disperses. 

Afterwards, Byleth gingerly picks up her disguise – the uniform of an Empire solider – and tries not to think about the fact that she’s wearing a dead woman’s clothes.

.

The plan works; their group make it into Fort Merceus.

Of Claude, there’s no sign, but Byleth tries not to let it worry her. She hopes he arrives soon – this fort is packed with soldiers, and they’re going to need his backup.

What’s more worrying is the sight of the Death Knight, high above them on the upper levels of the Fort. And he sees through them straight away, like Byleth had suspected he would.

_“Slaughter them all.”_

She can feel his eyes on her even at this distance. But she turns away from him, seeking Dimitri. He nods grimly at her. 

The plan has not changed. Felix and Hilda with some of the others will get Annette to higher ground so she can send up a flare of magic – their fliers, hidden as close as possible, letting their fliers know they’re inside and to assist them, while their foot soldiers will be free to advance on the pockets of troops stationed outside the walls. The rest of them inside will fight – mostly to take control of the defensive weaponry that can easily be used against them or any support that will arrive.

And then there are those unsettling mages, standing separate from the other Imperial troops. Their dark robes flutter in the wind, their faces concealed behind masks. They’ll have to be taken down quickly too. 

Everyone knows their roles.

But Byleth has a different goal. Her target is the Death Knight. 

.

No battle is ever easy, much less easily won. 

Sweat trickles down the back of Byleth’s neck.

Above her, the sky is a clear blue, too peaceful with all the death going on below. 

She presses forward, cutting a bloody path with the Sword of the Creator, going deeper into the Fort. Dimitri and Mercedes are close by. 

Somewhere ahead of her, the Death Knight waits. 

.

They fight and almost fall under the sheer number of enemy soldiers. But the plan continues to work and in that part of her brain that tracks everything going on around her, Byleth sees a battalion of Kingdom pegasus knights arrive, closely followed by Alliance wyverns. 

Ingrid lands a few feet ahead of Byleth.

“Professor,” she calls out.

“Those mages,” Byleth shouts back, waving her hand along the upper edges of the fort, where _those mages_ rain their magic down from. They’re too powerful and dangerous and they need to stopped.

Ingrid’s knuckles tighten around her lance as she follows Byleth’s gesture with her eyes. She nods. “Understood.”

With that, she’s gone as quick as she arrived. 

.

It is not until Claude arrives at the east entrance, leading not only an impressive battalion of wyverns, but ground soldiers, too, that Byleth begins to make quicker progress towards the centre of the fort, and her target.

The Almyrans are ferocious, and the sudden support sends a ripple of new energy through the combined Kingdom and Alliance army.

Claude flies low, catching her eye and giving her a nod, before he has to turn away to let loose an expertly aimed arrow at an enemy archer poised to take him down. There is no time for more than that, but it’s enough.

Byleth has not seen Caspar, and for that she is grateful. But the battle is dragging on and she needs to find the Death Knight. They need to end this soon. 

.

The Death Knight waits amidst the chaos. Somewhere behind her, Byleth can hear Mercedes distressed call of “Emilie”. But that the Death Knight is her brother… doesn’t matter. It’s cruel and cold, and Byleth knows – just as Mercedes knows – that he must die for them to live and end this war. Later, she’ll have to add Mercedes’ grief to the ever growing pile that she is responsible for: Felix, Dorothea, Claude. 

Rodrigue, Ferdinand, Lorenz. 

And that’s only three people, out of countless. 

The Death Knight steps towards Byleth, his scythe already cutting through the air, catching the sunlight.

.

It is one of those battles in which Byleth’s focus narrows down to only her opponent. Dimitri is occupied with enemy troops nearby. Mercedes sticks close to him, keeping both him and Byleth revitalised as best she can while occasionally blasting offensive magic.

It hardly registers to Byleth, just as her wounds and the burn in her muscles and the fatigue ready to descend as soon as she stops moving doesn’t register. The Death Knight is fast, and deadly. His focus is no less than hers, and his blows send her dancing across the stone ground of Fort Merceus, slippery with blood of the fallen.

Byleth has long since mastered the use of the Sword of the Creator, and the way it extends like a whip. And the longer she battles against the Death Knight, the more she’s able to predict his moves. 

It’s a perfectly timed whip of her sword that ends it, just as the Death Knight is turning to counter her. She almost feels the brush of the scythe against her cheek, it’s so close. But her sword has cut him off at his knees, sending him to the ground with a pained grunt. Byleth wastes no time in disarming him, kicking the scythe out of his hands as she draws her sword back, before striking him deep in the chest with a killing blow. 

The Death Knight’s breath rattles in his lungs. 

Byleth knows he won’t live long. Just as she’s about to turn away, he speaks, surprising her.

“It is coming,” the Death Knight says through a pained breath, but his grave tone gives Byleth pause. “Leave now, or all of you will die.”

Byleth sees his red eyes shift behind her. 

“_Emile_.” Mercedes approaches them. 

Byleth ignores her. “What is coming?” she asks him impatiently.

The Death Knight raises his hand and points behind Byleth, and as she turns, Mercedes runs forward to cradle her brother’s head in her lap.

But Byleth hardly registers that, because something _is_ coming towards them. Fast. For a brief second she thinks it’s some kind of spell – like the fireballs that were dropped on them at Gronder – but she soon realises these… whatever they are, are something entirely different. 

Byleth has never seen anything like this. They’re like something that has been launched from a ballista but faster. Larger. _More powerful_, she thinks.

A murmur raises through the troops as they notice the objects in the sky. She can feel the unease rising from them, growing as quickly as the objects are moving.

“Professor!” Dimitri appears by her side. “Have you ever seen such a thing?”

She shakes her head no, and hears the voices behind her.

“Leave… Mercedes…”

“I’m sorry, Emile. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better sister.”

“Mercedes,” Byleth snaps sharply, not taking her eyes off the sky. “Get up, we have to go.” Raising her voice, she shouts out. “Fall back! Evacuate the fortress.”

Dimitri takes up the call, recognising the urgency, but with fighting still going on in parts of the fortress, there’s confusion to go along with the panic.

They aren’t moving fast enough. 

How long do they have?

Turning to help Mercedes up, and holding onto her as they run, Byleth scans the wyverns above her as they hurry through the fortress as fast as they can, searching for a white one, even as she’s shouting at the soldiers to move, move, _move_.

_Where’s Claude?_

The objects are getting closer, and her dread builds. 

She sees wyverns to the north, Almyran wyverns, flying their way.

One of the javelins lands not far behind them.

There is a heavy second of silence, a heartbeat held under bated breath.

The world stills in the second, but only for a second. And then it starts moving too fast.

The ground rocks beneath their feet. Mercedes stumbles, and it’s only Byleth’s iron grip on her arm that keeps her upright.

They both stare at the sky.

The world looks like it’s on fire. She sees the silhouette of a wyvern engulfed in flames.

Another one of the weapons lands to the west.

.

Byleth pulls back time. 

_Back._

She’s facing the Death Knight. His scythe is coming towards her but she doesn’t flinch or retaliate because there still isn’t enough time.

.

This time she doesn’t just _pull_, she digs her fingers in like claws and drags herself back, and screams Sothis’s name.

There’s no answer.

.

The world comes back but it’s wrong, just for a second, inverted and blurry.

Byleth blinks and tries to focus through the pounding her head. 

“Professor!”

Dimitri’s face fills her vision. 

Byleth realises that she’s fallen to her knees. Her lips taste blood, and she thinks it may be coming from her nose. 

It doesn’t matter. She knows what she needs to do.

Distantly she hears Dimitri call Mercedes over to help.

The world is not on fire, not yet. 

“Dimitri,” she gasps, voice hoarse like she’s been screaming. She had been, hadn’t she? But no one had heard. She claws at his arm as he helps her stand, the world spinning for a moment until once again everything settles.

Mercedes’s Faith magic washes over her, only helping a little.

“What happened?” Mercedes asks.

“Dimitri,” Byleth says again, ignoring the question. “We need to retreat. This fort needs to be evacuated.”

He shakes his head, disbelief crossing his face. “But Professor, we–“

“I can’t explain it to you know, but if we stay, we’re all going to die.”

“But the Death Knight?” 

At the mention of him, Mercedes eyes travel to where the knight in question stands, tearing through their soldiers with ease.

“I’ll finish him, and make it out,” Byleth says decisively. She has the advantage of already winning this battle. Her mind plays it over; she knows how to end it quicker. She knows how he fights, what moves he’ll make. “We don’t have time to waste.” There’s no mistaking the urgency in her tone, but it’s clear both of them are uneasy by the demand which – to them – is nonsensical. “_Please_,” she tries. “Please trust me. We will all die if we stay.”

“I–“ Dimitri looks conflicted as he searches her face. But then he shakes his head again except this time it’s like he’s shaking away his doubts. “Of course I trust you, Professor. We will do as you say. All I ask is that you explain it to me, later.”

She swallows. “I will.” Not a conversation she particularly wants to have, but it’ll be worth it to save them. “Go with him, Mercedes,” Byleth says with finality, aware of how cold she sounds, but she can’t risk Mercedes staying. Byleth will deny her the chance to say goodbye to her brother to keep her alive. 

She’d rather have Mercedes alive to ask her forgiveness than have to mourn her. 

She does not look at Mercedes’ face, but instead turns away to face the Death Knight, ready to kill him again. 

Behind her, Dimitri begins giving his orders. Once again, there’s confusion and disarray, but Byleth’s given them all she can. There’s no point in staying – this battle will end as soon as those weapons fall. She’s given them some time to get out.

She’s given them a chance. 

.

This time, as soon as the Death Knight falls, breath rattling harshly in his death as he dies, Byleth turns and begins running. She does not wait to see if he’ll give the same warning now that Mercedes isn’t with her.

It doesn’t matter.

It’s not long before she sees the weapons in the sky, but this time the fort is less crowded and easier to move through. There are still Empire soldiers around – those who aren’t chasing the fleeing Kingdom army. Any who make the mistake of trying to stop her only hasten their deaths. 

The ground is littered with bodies.

Dimitri has made good on his word, and Byleth speeds up, running as fast as she can across the battlefield, shouting at those who remain to get away too. 

It’s clear not even these Empire soldiers know what these weapons are.

.

She’s not sure she’s going to make it.

The blast to the north hits and because she’s moving so fast, it sends her stumbling this time, just as she reaches the east drawbridge out of the fort. But Byleth picks herself back up, now caught up in a group of people only out to save themselves – no one is interested in fighting when the sky is falling down upon them. 

Another blast hits somewhere behind her – the one to the west. She doesn’t even slow down, not when she can see another one getting close. 

She can feel heat at her back. 

The air stinks of fear.

The ground beneath her turns soft, and harder to run on. She does not stop.

The last weapon hits; too close – the aftershock sends all of them tumbling forward, a wave of hot air blasting over them. 

Byleth hits the ground, lungs burning, eyes watering, willing her aching body to get back up. 

Eventually she manages it, through sheer stubbornness, and searches the sky. But there’s nothing. Just that clear blue sky.

Like nothing had happened.

.

The world seems quiet in the aftermath, but she soon realises it’s because she can’t hear anything over the ringing in her ears.

Byleth ignores the way her legs and hands shake, and tries to take stock.

Around her are soliders – from the Kingdom, Alliance, Empire. It doesn’t seem to matter. 

No one is fighting now. There’s no appetite for it.

All of them are in bewilderment over what’s happened, and at the destruction that these weapons have caused.

Fort Merceus – the Stubborn Old General – is no more. All that’s left is a charred husk and rubble. Some parts are on fire, with thick plumes of smoke rising into the air.

There are people sobbing near Byleth, and she doesn’t have it in her to comfort them. 

She needs to find the others. She needs to know if they’ve survived, if she’d given them enough time.

Her head spins, and she slams her sword into the ground, leaning heavily on it as she gathers herself, taking deep breaths. She has to keep moving.

A shudder runs through her as she remembers seeing the wyvern engulfed in the blast. It had not been Claude, she thinks – and it has not even happened, anymore – but fear curls in her gut. It’s impossible that everyone got out of the fort before the weapons hit. Weapons that didn’t care whether they were destroying friend or foe.

Byleth shudders.

She begins walking, heading west in the hope of finding the bulk of their army. Along the way, she hollowly gathers up survivors. 

She doesn’t miss how many of them keep fearfully looking up at the sky.

.

Who has won this battle?

Byleth can’t help but wonder. The Death Knight is dead and Fort Merceus is no longer an obstacle.

But their enemies have just displayed a terrifying amount of power that they can’t hope to match – and it hadn’t come from Enbarr. It hasn’t escaped Byleth’s notice that the javelins of light had come from the north east. 

What’s stopping them from dropping more of these on Garreg Mach? On _anywhere_?

.

Shadows overhead startle some of those with her, but she can immediately tell that they’re wyverns. But she tenses, nonetheless, as she tries to identify them.

A second later she realises they’re friendly.

It’s the Almyrans, and as she squints up into the sky, she’s sure that the one in front is white.

Her heart lifts when it begins descending, landing just a few feet in front of her and Claude leaps off the back of Meissa, hardly letting her hit the ground fully before he’s out of the saddle and rushing towards Byleth. 

She takes him in a quick glance – scuffed, weary, holding himself in a way that suggests an injury to his side but likely not too serious. But alive. So very alive. And then she’s in his arms, lifted off the ground as he crushes her to him. Byleth tangles her hand in his air as she kisses him, over and over again, and the cold, heart gripping fear she’s felt since she’d first seen those objects in the sky finally begins to leave. 

.

They retreat back to the Bridge of Myrddin to take stock. They can do this, because there’s no longer any fort standing in their way. The path to Enbarr is clear. 

They had not lost as many as Byleth had feared – partially because of her, and partially because the vast majority of their ground troops weren’t in the fort at the time. By all accounts, the javelins in the sky – as they’ve taken to calling them – may have proved more deadly to the Empire than to themselves. They wonder if this shows Edelgard’s desperation; that she knows she is losing.

They have also taken two prisoners – Caspar and Lindhart. Byleth knows she should go and speak to them, but she doesn’t have the energy right now.

But she’s glad they’re alive. 

She still needs to talk to Mercedes. She still needs to explain to Dimitri how she’d known what was going to happen. She still needs to do… so many things. 

But her head is spinning again, and Byleth can see the tremble in her hands. She’s not even sure if she could lift her sword right now if she needed to. 

Without a word to anyone else in the room in which the meeting is still ongoing, she leaves, ignoring those who question her. Using the last of her energy, Byleth makes her way up the steps to the room she’d been given last time they’d stayed at Myrddin, relieved to see a fire crackling in the hearth and blankets on the bed. 

She falls onto it without bothering to take off any of her clothes and passes out.

.

When she wakes, Byleth immediately registers a number of things. It’s dark. The fire has burned low. Her shoes and armour have been removed, and she’s been tucked under the blankets. She’s warm and comfortable.

And Claude is curled around her. 

This bed is bigger than the one in her room back at Garreg Mach. But his chest is pressed against her back, his knees tucked against hers, with his face buried in her hair. Byleth blinks in the dark, focusing on one of Claude’s hands stretched out in front of her. She places her own hand over it, and falls back asleep to the sound of his steady and even breaths in her ear. 

.

The next time she wakes, Byleth is alone in the bed. The room is brighter, and the fire has been built back up. Noise nearby makes her sit up, blinking blearily. 

Claude has just placed a tray on the table near the fire. He looks rumpled, with the hint of sleep still clinging to him. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says in a low voice. Byleth doesn’t miss the way he’s looking at her, concern making his eyes tight.

She shakes her head, and swings her legs over the side of the bed. Immediately Claude rushes over, helping her stand.

“I’m fine,” she murmurs, but accepts his help. And she is, she thinks. While her cuts and bruises had been healed, the rest has helped with the toll turning back time had taken on her. She feels steady, although still exhausted. “I’m hungry.”

Claude walks her over to the table, where there’s porridge and fruit. 

“Did you go and get this?” Byleth asks.

He shakes his head. “No, a servant just brought it to the door. Dimitri came by, too. Said to rest for today, and that no one will bother you. He was worried.”

Byleth, already tucking into the food, hums around her spoon in acknowledgement of Claude’s words, grateful for a temporary respite from everything. The porridge is bland. Most food they eat these days is, it seems, but they can hardly complain about wartime rationing. But it’s comforting on her empty stomach and the fruit, at least, looks fresh. 

Claude sits down opposite her at his own bowl, casting the food an unimpressed look before taking a spoonful. Byleth can feel his eyes on her as she eats, but he says nothing, clearly wanting to make sure she’s eaten enough before starting a conversation. He pours them both some tea that, and Byleth sips the hot drink gratefully. 

Afterwards, she wanders into the wash room while Claude finishes eating, grateful to get clean and change into clean clothes. When she returns, Claude is perched on the side of the bed, waiting. 

“You had to turn back time, didn’t you?” he starts, voice tight.

Byleth nods, moving towards him, steeling herself for this conversation. The horror of those weapons in the sky hasn’t left her. “I had to go back further than I have before.” She pauses. “I think, anyway. It’s not like I’ve measured it. But I had to give Dimitri enough time for his order to retreat to reach as many as possible.”

She steps between his legs, running her hands through his hair. Claude leans forward, resting his head against her chest, hugging her to him. He lets out a shaky exhale. “I thought you were still in the fort, when the javelins of light hit. I thought–“ Claude’s voice cracks and he turns his face into her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I had to make sure the Death Knight wouldn’t escape again.”

He shakes his head. “You didn’t, Byleth. His death wouldn’t have been worth yours.” He pulls back to look her in the face. “You– I can’t lose you again.” His fingers curl into her shirt, and she can see the desperation in his eyes. 

She wound back time to save them all, but Claude has no such power. He had to wait, and watch Fort Merceus fall, fearing she had fallen with it. 

“I’m sorry,” she says again, her own voice breaking with the realisation of the grief she’d put him through. “I knew I could do it in time–“

“It was _too close_!” 

For a moment Byleth wants to argue, because surely Claude – of all people – could understand a scheme? But then – it hadn’t been a scheme, it had been Byleth running on instinct and escaping by the skin of her teeth, because somewhere in the back of her mind she’d been hoping she’d have been able to pull off another Divine Pulse and try again.

She’d sworn not to rely on it and use it as an excuse to be reckless with the lives of the others, but she’d never made such a promise about her own life.

“You’re right,” she sighs. 

“I can’t lose you again.” Claude repeats the words so fervently, they rattle through Byleth’s bones. 

“When the…” Byleth takes a deep breath, calming them both by continuing to smooth her fingers through Claude’s hair. “When those javelins of light hit, the first time, I saw a group of wyverns engulfed in the blast.” She swallows, and Claude stiffens. “I don’t think it was you.” _But it might have been_ goes unsaid.

“It’s a curse as much as it’s a blessing, isn’t it?” Claude states hollowly. “You have to live with what you’ve seen, even if you do change it. And you have to live with what you can’t change.” He shakes his head, eyes red-rimmed as he looks up at her. “You saved us all yesterday. And I’m thankful, don’t get me wrong. I just hate that you go through this alone.” 

“I don’t feel alone with you here.” It’s the truth. “And I’m glad I have this power. I can keep everyone safe.”

“Byleth… but who keeps you safe?” 

She stares into his eyes, gently running a thumb across the dark circles under them. “It keeps me safe, too.”

Claude sighs, and Byleth can see he’s still struggling. “I want to make promises I know I can’t guarantee I can keep. I want to say that I’ll keep you safe, and that you’ll never have to watch any of us die again. But I can’t.” He briefly shuts his eyes before he reopens them, looking up at Byleth with a fierce expression. “All I can promise is to be with you, and lend you my strength as much as you lend me yours. Because I love you.”

Byleth’s fingers against his face stop moving. Her lips curl upwards. “You do?”

“Yes,” Claude replies, earnest and open. “I love you, with all that I am.”

She can’t stop the smile stretching across her face. “I love you, too. So much.” 

Claude’s returning smile is blinding, and he moves further back onto the bed, taking Byleth with him. Her legs sink to either side of his waist as she kisses him, enjoying the feel of his hands under her shirt, against the bare skin of her back. When he brings those hands around to cup her breasts, her breath catches, and she arches into his touch as his thumbs brush against her nipples.

Claude pulls away from her lips, shuddering out a breath. “Is this alright?” 

In response, Byleth sits back and pulls off the shirt, leaving her topless. 

He swallows heavily, his hands falling to her waist as he takes her in. “So, that’s a yes, I take it?”

She grins. “Yes.” Taking his hands and placing them back on her breasts, her voice turns demanding. “Touch me.” 

Claude raises an eyebrow at her tone in amusement, but he resumes his exploratory touches, eyes darting from her chest to her face and then back again, his touches become firmer and more confident as he quickly works out what she likes. Byleth can feel that heat flaring up inside her again, the one that happens whenever he touches her, except this is the first time he’s touched her like _this_, and she can’t help but grind down, seeking friction. At her backside she can feel Claude’s own growing arousal too.

He sits up, spreading his hands across her back so he can crush his lips to hers. When Byleth starts tugging at his own shirt, he pulls away, and she can’t help but whimper slightly at the loss. 

“I want you,” Claude says, voice hoarse, “and I know I’ve said this before – but I don’t want to do this just to distract ourselves from what’s going on.”

Byleth is already shaking her head. “I want to do this because I love you.” And it’s the truth. That’s all there is. 

He laughs lightly – a little self consciously, Byleth thinks as she looks at the blush darkening his cheeks. “I suppose that’s the best reason for it.” Leaning forward, he hugs her to him, resting his face against her chest, and Byleth wraps her arms around him in return, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “So long as this isn’t some way of saying goodbye.”

Byleth starts in surprise. “Of course not.”

He presses a kiss to the skin over her heart that does not beat. “When Dimitri told me you were still in the Fort, and when those javelins fell, it was like Garreg Mach all over again, except worse.” His voice is hollow. “Don’t ask me to make love to you and then go and do something like that again.”

The guilt hits her as she realises just how bad it must have been for Claude. If she closes her eyes, she can still see the bright explosion of the javelins of light exploding… for him to have watched from a distance and not known where she was…

Byleth knows how agonising she’d have found it in his position. 

She doesn’t apologise again – he knows she’s sorry. Instead she pulls them both down to lie side by side on the bed, curling herself around him. 

And Claude is right. She could have wound back time and retreated with Dimitri and let the Death Knight escape.

Sighing, she brushes her nose against his. “I hadn’t considered how reckless I was being with my own life.”

His fingers tighten on her back as his eyes bore into hers. “You said you don’t want to rely on the Divine Pulse in battle, that you don’t want to think of the lives of your people as disposable.”

“I don’t,” she replies. “And I haven’t.”

“Byleth, you’re not disposable either.” She opens her mouth to reply, but he places a gentle finger over her lips, and she lets him speak. “And not because you’re the Archbishop or Dimitri’s tactician or because of your power, or anything like that.”

Byleth closes her eyes, unable to withstand his earnest stare. 

“I know,” she whispers. And she does. She doesn’t want to to die, or sacrifice herself for this war. But yesterday, in that moment, she _hadn’t_ considered leaving with Dimitri and facing the Death Knight another day. Had she been like Dimitri at his worst? When he’d forged ahead without regard for himself, making everyone worry.

Claude’s finger trails over her cheek, and he presses a soft kiss against her lips. He seems calmer now, knowing his point is made and knowing she’s thinking about it, and they lie in a comfortable silence for a while. 

Byleth’s thoughts wander and something occurs to her. “Did all the Almyrans make it out?”

“They did,” Claude replies. “From what Dimitri said, it would have went a lot worse without them. I’m relieved by how well they worked with his troops, and it seems it was as good a time as any to start laying some groundwork.” His eyes flicker over her face. “For the future.”

Byleth nods. It makes sense. She’s too tired to focus on the future right now, though, and she thinks Claude might be too.

“You’ll have to meet Nader later.” Claude pauses. “No, tomorrow,” he amends. “Today we rest. He’s an Almyran general. Taught me how to ride a wyvern when I was a child. I think you’d like him. He and Judith keep arguing.”

The fond way he says it makes Byleth smile. “Why?”

“I _think_ she’s attracted to him and annoyed about it.”

Byleth laughs at that unexpected answer, and it seems to chase away more of the shadows on Claude’s face, but she can’t help but think he still looks tired. Worn. Probably like herself. At least they have today to rest.

“I love hearing you laugh,” he admits.

She smiles at that, even while she can feel her exhaustion creeping back. “Do you want to sleep for a while?”

Claude nods and sits up to pull the blankets over them.

“Wait.” Byleth stops him and then yanks his shirt over his head. 

He looks at her, bemused.

“If I’m topless, you should be, too.”

Claude’s lips twitch, his eyes trailing down to take in her nakedness again. “I suppose that’s only fair,” he says slowly, distracted. 

Byleth nods as he lies back on the bed, and settles herself against him, pulling the blankets up to cover them. The feel of his bare skin against hers is wonderful, and while the heat that’s always there when she touches Claude is still present, she’s happy to keep it muted for now. 

They’re both tired.

So Byleth presses a kiss to his throat and whispers, “I really do love you.”

His hands smooth down her back. “I love you too, Byleth.” 

With a sigh, Byleth relaxes against him, and falls asleep.

.

When she wakes, she feels more rested, and stretches out languidly in the bed, judging by the light that it’s still only the middle of the afternoon, perhaps edging into the evening.

This is the longest she’s gone without having to do anything since the day Edelgard had revealed herself as the Flame Emperor. Byleth knows it’s only temporary, that tomorrow she’ll have to make up for this brief respite, but she decides to ignore that fact for now, instead focusing her attention on something far more pleasant – the man in the bed with her.

Claude is still wrapped around her, and his hand curls lightly around her waist as he noses his face into her hair, letting her know that he’s at least somewhat awake. When she turns in his arms and kisses him, he wakes up fully, eagerly opening his mouth to her and letting her roll him onto his back so she can straddle him. The blankets fall away as they explore one other; lazily at first, and then more heated with lips and teeth and tongues joining hands and fingers as their remaining clothes are removed. 

This time, neither of them are inclined to stop, and if Claude thinks that they could do this once as a means for her to say goodbye and then go and walk into death, _oh_, he is so wrong, she thinks. This feels so good she wants to do it everyday for as long as they both live.

Claude moves down her body and slides his tongue against her heat, crooking his fingers inside her until she’s calling out his name like he’s a divine being. Byleth thinks she’s never felt more alive, but that’s only until he props himself up against the headboard and she settles on his lap, their foreheads pressed together as she sinks down on him, struggling to keep her eyes open so that she can see his face and take in his shifting expression as she takes him to the hilt. 

She swallows his moan as they begin to move together – or perhaps he swallows hers; she’s not sure, because it’s hard to tell where she stops and Claude begins. She kisses him, messy and devouring, because there’s a swell of emotion building up inside her just as much as her pleasure is, and both of them are threatening to overwhelm her and she’s afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she doesn’t keep it occupied. 

She has to break away from his lips when she comes, unable to catch her breath, and she clutches onto Claude’s shoulders, mouth parted in a soundless cry while he holds onto her, falling over into his own release, her name on his lips. 

Byleth slumps against him, feeling boneless even as little aftershocks make her clench and gasp, and Claude still holds her, tucking her head under his chin as he catches his own breath, gently stroking her hair as they both recover.

She can feel his hammering heartbeat begin to slow, and something about that crumbles the bit of her that was holding back her feelings, and she can’t help the sob that escapes her. 

“By.” Claude crooks his head to catch her eye, looking alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, sniffing and turning to look at him properly. She can see he’s doubtful, but it’s the truth. “I’m happy. That was wonderful. I don’t know why I’m crying. I don’t _cry_.” She can count the exact number of times she’s cried in her life on one hand. 

His smile is soft as he wipes away a tear. “We all cry sometimes. I was worried I’d hurt you.”

Byleth can’t help but laugh at that, despite her teariness, because considering how incredible he’s just made her feel, the idea of him hurting her does seem laughable. She smooths her hands over his chest, savouring the feel of his skin under her palms. “No,” she replies, “you didn’t. I think…” She lets out a long breath as she considers. “I think it’s just been a lot.” She glances up to meet his eyes, bright and warm. “Everything.”

Claude nods. “That’s understandable. But not all bad, I hope.”

She sighs as he runs a hand down her spine. “Definitely not,” she whispers, leaning to brush soft kisses against his cheek and his nose and his neck, avoiding his lips. Claude’s eyes close and he smiles as she works. “I do love you, Claude. I’m not going to leave you.”

His eyes snap open again, almost shocking in their intensity. He doesn’t ask exactly what she means by that even though she knows he must be thinking of Almyra. It’s probably for the best, because she’s still not ready to deal with that even though she very much means what she says. She’s not going to leave him, and she’s not going to make either of them have to live with the cold fear of not knowing if the other is alive or not. 

“You don’t know what it means to me to hear you say that,” he replies, voice hoarse with repressed emotion, trusting her words as he has since Gronder. “I love you, too,” he murmurs before kissing her again, and they both fall back onto the bed, caught up in each other, intent on making the most of these precious quiet hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic now has ART. 😭 Tesereil drew some lovely art of Claude snuggling up on Byleth over [here](https://twitter.com/Tesereil/status/1226517301249351680). Please go look, because I lost my damn mind when I saw it.
> 
> Also, no spoilers, but the DLC absolutely jossed something from an earlier chapter that I just can't deal with going back and changing. So THANKS FOR THAT, I GUESS. (jk the DLC is really good)


	15. Chapter 15

The room is a temporary sanctuary – both Claude and Byleth are blessedly left alone for the day, with the only interruptions being a servant with more food, and Mercedes to check up on their injuries.

Claude is fine, with his minor knocks and bruises already healed, but Mercedes remains concerned about Byleth. She’s unable to understand Byleth’s continuing weakness – it had been something she’d been able to explain away after Gronder due to Hubert’s dark magic, but this time there is no such cause. While Byleth knows what it is, she can tell Mercedes thinks it’s down to the stress of the continuing war. And Mercedes knows well she can’t tell Byleth to stop and rest. None of them can stop yet..

Byleth can also tell Mercedes is thinking about happened Merceus, and what – to Mercedes – must have been a strange and sudden thing to watch when Byleth ordered her and Dimitri to retreat, even if her reasons for it had quickly become clear. But she’s not ready to tell Mercedes about her ability, not yet, not when she has to brace herself to talk with Dimitri about it. Perhaps someday she can tell Mercedes too.

Instead, Byleth reaches out carefully, gently taking Mercedes’s hand.

“About your brother…” She trails off, not sure where to start.

Mercedes stills. “It’s alright, Professor,” she says quietly. “I knew how this would end. I just wish… I just wish I had gotten a chance to talk to him.” She looks at Byleth with watery eyes. “I would have liked to say goodbye. I wanted him to know that I–“ She stops and straightens up. “I’m sorry, Professor, I don’t wish to burden you with this.”

Byleth shakes her head and swallows down a lump in her throat. “You have nothing to apologise for. I’m sorry, Mercedes, that you never got to say goodbye.”

Mercedes squeezes Byleth’s hand and gives her a sad smile.

When she leaves, Byleth stares silently at nothing, that aching feeling seeping back into her. Claude, who had remained quiet and unobtrusive while she spoke to Mercedes, is watching her from his seat across the table.

She meets his eyes. “She did get to say goodbye.”

He understands immediately. “And then you wound back time.”

Byleth nods. “It probably saved her life.” She feels distant, almost removed from her body. In her mind, she can hear Mercedes’s soft voice as she held her dying brother and apologised for not being a better sister. Byleth was more than glad to see the back of the Death Knight, but it still didn’t lessen her guilt at taking that final moment from Mercedes. “If I had to do it again, I’d make the same choice. But I still took that away from her.”

She blinks and suddenly Claude is kneeling front of the chair she’s sitting on, and Byleth goes willingly into his arms that wind around her, resting her head on his shoulder.

“For what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision,” he speaks into her hair quietly. “But I understand the burden of it. I wish I could do more to make you feel better.”

“Just you being here makes me feel better.”

She can feel him smile against her. “So easy to please.”

Byleth draws back to see his face, smoothing her hand through his hair as she notes the dark smudges under his eyes. A day of rest isn’t nearly enough to undo months – years, in Claude’s cause – of hardship. “You don’t think it’s selfish?”

“What?” he asks, running a hand down her back. “Us?”

“Yes. It’s complicated, isn’t it?” She doesn’t quite voice the question that’s growing ever louder in her head, especially in the wake of their confessions and recent experiences. The question of what happens after.

Claude’s eyes search her face. “I don’t think it’s selfish. By, you run yourself ragged helping everyone else, it’s not selfish to take something for yourself. Especially–” he gives an exaggerated wink that makes her smile “–when it’s something being offered so willingly.

She hums in reply, still playing with his hair, enjoying the soft feel of it against her fingers. Not disagreeing with Claude, but just finding it hard to accept, knowing that there are countless issues waiting outside the door that she should attend to.

Claude swallows, seemingly searching for words as his face grows more serious. “And it is complicated, I won’t say it isn’t. And I know things will change after the war, and we have to talk about that soon. But I do love you. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

.

But despite the lingering feeling of selfishness and a sometimes insistent press inside her to leave the room and go be useful, Byleth stays and lets herself be wrapped up in Claude for the rest of the day and night. And Claude, she’s sure, is doing the same. Stolen hours in which they explore each other. Her lips and fingers trace his body.

He presses whispered promises into her skin.

.

The next morning, they part reluctantly, Claude kissing her breathless before they leave the room and get back to business – her to find Dimitri, and Claude to find Nader, a man Byleth remains curious to meet.

But that will have to wait; she knows she has to tell Dimitri what happened at Fort Merceus.

Dimitri proves to be more difficult than usual to find, even though they’re still at their base at the bridge of Myrddin and not back at Garreg Mach, which is far more sprawling with more places to disappear. But Dimitri is usually always easy to locate – he seems to take comfort in keeping to a routine when he can. He has meetings, he trains, and he eats, and he makes himself visible. Byleth thinks he’s trying to make himself accessible, perhaps in part to make up for when he wasn’t, and it makes her think of what Claude had said about running herself ragged. The same could be said for the soon to be king.

It’s Ingrid who points her in the direction of the stables, and there she finds Dimitri in the courtyard outside, talking with Marianne.

He’s feeding an apple to Marianne’s horse and he’s smiling. When Byleth glances at Marianne, she sees the expression mirrored on her face as she watches, both of them looking cosy in the morning soon.

Byleth’s eyebrows raise high on her face.

_Well, that’s… cute_.

She lingers a distance away, suddenly unsure about disturbing them. Dimitri looks… content, and his bashful smile reminds her of when he’d been a student. Her eyes travel back to Marianne, who lets out a light laugh as the horse finishes eating the apple and starts nosing at Dimitri’s cloak for more.

It’s _disgustingly_ cute, really.

Just as she’s about to slink away and wait until he’s done, Dimitri raises his head and spots her.

“Professor,” he calls out.

Byleth slowly – and a little reluctantly – makes her way towards them, feeling like she’s intruding. She forces a smile to her face and greets them both, glad to see Marianne smile shyly back at her.

“How are you, Professor?” she asks with concern. “You seemed exhausted after the battle. We were worried”

“I’m fine,” Byleth replies. “Having a full day to rest helped.” She turns to Dimitri. “Thank you for that.”

“Oh, it was nothing, Professor,” Dimitri says dismissively. Byleth can already see tension creeping back into him, likely knowing that Byleth’s arrival means a difficult conversation and a return to his duties. “You deserved the rest.”

“Especially after those awful weapons at Merceus,” Marianne murmurs, gently stroking the horse’s nose. “Everyone was shaken by it.”

Everyone still is, Byleth is sure. Deciding to just get it over with, especially now that the topic has been brought up, she glances back at Marianne and asks, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but do you mind if I speak to Dimitri?”

She shakes her head. “Of course not. I need to groom Dorte, anyway.” Marianne turns back to Dimitri. “Thank you for spending time with me this morning, Your Highness.”

“Ah, Marianne, please call me Dimitri.”

She blushes and Byleth averts her eyes because she really does feel like she’s intruding on a private moment.

“Dimitri,” Marianne says, and Byleth can’t help but watch Dimitri out of the corner of her eye.

He’s beaming at Marianne, clearly delighted by the simple fact that she so readily called him by his name.

.

They leave Marianne, and walk back through the small but busy fort on the Alliance end of the Bridge while Dimitri updates her on what’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. It’s not much, in truth, as they take stock of their losses and rest – and while they’ve ultimately walked away victorious from Merceus, it doesn’t feel much like a victory. Even now, she can see the people they pass fearfully watching the sky.

“We believe it can’t be easy for them to use these weapons – surely they would have already used them against us at Garreg Mach or Derdriu?” Dimitri muses as they walk.

Byleth nods. It makes sense. The Kingdom has been steadily growing stronger for months. Perhaps them finally being on the cusp of reaching Enbarr had forced their enemy into a last, desperate attack. “So hopefully they won’t be able to use them again before we capture Enbarr.”

“That is the hope, but it remains speculation. We must move swiftly – we cannot risk giving them time to attack again.”

“Those weapons did not come from Enbarr. This might not be our last battle.”

Dimitri is grim. “Yes. I had considered that. My hope is that we will at least find answers in Enbarr. And Lady Rhea still lives. She may know something.”

Oh, Rhea knows _something_, of that Byleth is sure. Whether it’s to do with those javelins of light or not remains to be seen.

They pause on a quiet part of the bridge, and Byleth lets Dimitri gather his thoughts, knowing the more difficult part of the conversation is coming.

Finally, he says, “There have been some… questions about Claude’s allies.”

It’s not what Byleth expected him to say, but she is unsurprised to hear that.

Dimitri continues. “Did you know that they are lead by Nader the Undefeated? He is a renowned Almyran general.”

She blinks – Claude had mentioned that Nader was a general, but she hadn’t known the man had such an impressive title. “It is strange, is it not,” Dimitri says, “that Claude should count such people among his allies?”

“Not necessarily,” Byleth replies carefully, knowing that actually _yes_, considering the relationship between Leicester and Almyra, it is strange that the recent Duke is on trusted terms with someone he should consider an enemy. But she knows Claude wants to keep his identity hidden for now and while she’d rather he be more open about it, she respects his wishes.

Byleth also has no problem helping to move along Claude’s goals, and she fixes Dimitri with a steady look. “I think it’s good he’s been fostering better relations with Almyra. The Alliance has been in conflict with them for too long.”

Dimitri looks conflicted. “I… do agree, I suppose. I have heard the way some of them speak about Almyrans. It reminds me of how the people of Duscur are spoken about; prejudiced untruths, full of hate. I would like to change that attitude, if I can.”

“So would Claude,” she responds, still careful. In truth, she feels a little guilty, and wonders – not for the first time – if Dimitri and the others who consider Claude a friend will feel betrayed whenever they inevitably finds out about him.

Dimitri nods. “The soldiers he brought have settled in better than I could have expected – but perhaps that is merely a consequence of the shared experienced of Merceus. They will accompany us to Enbarr, and then return to Almyra afterwards.” He pauses, staring out sightlessly at the clear sky. After a moment he seems to rouse himself. “Regardless, relations between Fódlan and Almyra is a business that will have to wait.” Dimitri turns back to Byleth, looking serious. “We all almost died at Fort Merceus,” he says sombrely. “And we know nothing about the weapons they attacked us with – we don’t even truly know if it was the Empire who did it. It makes no sense…”

“Hopefully we can find some answers in Enbarr.”

“Yes. Our preparations are underway. We must move with haste.”

Byleth remains silent, knowing the question is coming.

“Professor, I have to ask. How did you know?”

Byleth takes a deep breath, and tells him. The words come easy and quickly – she’s considered how to share this with him. She doesn’t tell Dimitri as much as she’s shared with Claude, but she tells him enough.

And through it all Dimitri listens in silence, his eye widening, his breath catching as he takes it all in. She can see that he believes her even as he struggles to take it in, and she’s grateful for that, at least. After she finishes, he turns back to look over the edge of the bridge again.

Byleth gives him time to consider.

“That is… incredible, Professor,” he finally breathes out. “So hard to believe, and yet I know you are truthful. I must admit it’s difficult to take in, to understand such a great power, gifted to you by the goddess herself.” He shifts to look at her again, something shining in his eye, something that was too close to how Claude looked at her when she first told him, too.

She doesn’t like it. Her power is undoubtedly useful – a literal life-saver – but she is no goddess, and she doesn’t want anyone to think of her as _anything_ like a goddess.

“We would have been lost without it,” Dimitri murmurs, slightly awed sounding. She supposes she can understand that – Dimitri had seen the destruction of Merceus. He knows what would have happened if she hadn’t given them time to escape.

Now, a couple of days removed from it, the whole experience feels like the remains of a nightmare to Byleth. She’d pulled too hard to turn back time, and it’s left her feeling weak, even now. She can only hope she recovers quickly – she has to be prepared for anything at Enbarr.

Still she remains silent, letting Dimitri continue to process.

Eventually, he asks, “Does anyone else know?”

“Just Claude,” she responds, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. It’s still in the back of her mind, what Claude had told her about Dimitri and his feelings for her. Sometimes she feels a little awkward mentioning Claude in front of Dimitri, even if Dimitri hasn’t given her a reason to do so. She’s always only mentioned him when necessary, and never in a personal capacity, only ever about the war effort. It’s been easier that way.

“Ah. Of course. You two have grown… quite close.”

Byleth’s not sure how to interpret his tone. She hesitates for a moment, before deciding to be honest. “I love him.”

Dimitri starts, clearly surprised by the simple, blunt statement. He flushes lightly. “You do?”

“Yes.” She watches him calmly, noting that he seems more flustered by this than by the news that she can turn back time.

It takes him a moment to respond, but he does so after taking a deep breath, regaining his composure. “I would ask if Claude feels the same, but it’s clear from the way that he looks at you that he does.” Byleth raises her eyebrows and Dimitri huffs out a small laugh, although it sounds a little forced. “He is a very guarded man, and I must confess that I do not understand him. But he becomes more open when he looks at you, any of us can see it. And… it has been the subject of some gossip, Professor.”

“I’m not surprised,” she mutters. Inevitable, she supposes, but not something she likes.

Dimitri takes another deep breath. “I am happy for you, Professor,” he says, breathtakingly earnest. “Truly. You deserve all the happiness in the land.”

She stares for a beat, surprised by the sincere emotion in Dimitri’s voice. “Thank you. Does it… does it bother you?” His eye widens in surprise, a hint of panic flitting across his face and Byleth rushes on, clarifying hastily. “About my power, does it bother you that I didn’t tell you before?”

“Oh.” His eyes skirt away from hers, giving her his answer before he even speaks. “Yes, but I– I understand why. If I had known what you could do, it would have been something else I would have used in my quest for vengeance.” He pauses, clearly struggling, a shadow falling across his face. She wonders if he’s hearing the whispers of the dead, and if he’ll struggle like this for the rest of his life. “It would be something else I would need to apologise for. I have not been kind to you, I would have been less kind having knowledge of your power, I can admit that. And for all that you have helped me, we are not–“ he falters slightly before carrying on, “–we are not friends, not like the way you are with Felix or Dorothea or any of the others. I have given you no reason to confide in me. But Professor, I would like us to be friends – if you wish to be.” He adds the last part on hastily, shifting on his feet. There’s still a slight blush crossing his cheeks, and Byleth can see his vulnerability.

He reminds her of how he’d been as a student, and it makes her smile. And while Byleth had told Dimitri that she forgave him for how he’d acted when she’d first returned, it’s only now – now that she’s seen how he’s changed, and how he wants to do better, and how he’s putting that into action – that she thinks she’s only really, truly begun to forgive him.

“I’d like that, Dimitri,” and his small returning smile is hopeful. “On one condition.”

He nods. “Of course.”

“Can you please call me Byleth?”

He looks surprised by the request. “Do you dislike being called Professor?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t _dislike_ it, but I’m no longer a teacher. If we’re to be friends, I’d rather we just be equals. You wouldn’t like it if I started calling you Your Majesty, would you?” She knows he wouldn’t.

“That is true. Very well.” Dimitri pauses. “Byleth.”

Her lips twitch. “Does it feel strange?”

“A little,” he says with a sheepish smile, making him look more boyish than his stature would suggest. “But I am sure I will adjust to the change.”

Something flickers in her then, and a little flame of anxiety she’s been carrying around for a long time dwindles away.

.

Preparations for Enbarr get underway, with their blended army of people from Faerghus, Leicester, and Almyra. Byleth meets Nader and finds she likes him, although that’s not much of a surprise. Claude speaks about the man so fondly and it’s obvious that affection is returned.

That he speaks so much more fondly about Nader than he does about his own father is not lost on her.

Byleth doesn’t admit it out loud, but she can see why Judith is carrying a flame for the Almyran general.

And Byleth is glad that Nader seems to like her, too. She hadn’t quite realised until she was introduced to him properly that she was anxious about him approving of her. She wants the important people in Claude’s life to like her.

.

Byleth speaks to both Caspar and Linhardt, who have been given rooms at Myrddin, but are being kept under guard. Neither of them tell her much, but it’s clear they know nothing about the javelins of light. In fact, they both seem shaken by them, knowing that if they hadn’t been captured by Dimitri, they’d both be dead.

Caspar seems especially conflicted. “I used to play at Merceus when I was a child. It always seemed so huge, you know? It was the biggest thing ever. I don’t understand how it’s gone, I don’t understand how Edelgard…”

He trails off, looking away from Byleth, troubled and obviously not wanting to say more about his Emperor. He knows where Byleth is marching next, and what that means.

.

Byleth is surprised when Dimitri informs her he wishes to parley with Edelgard, but pleased. She doubts it will change anything, but that Dimitri is even willing to try shows how far he’s come.

.

All of them still watch the sky, and Byleth has trouble sleeping, even in Claude’s arms.

She dreams of Merceus and of weapons falling from the size and razing the ground, and she is impotent. She dreams of outcomes she cannot change, the deaths of those she loves, and a world on fire.

When she wakes, Claude is often also awake, pressing lips to her skin and murmuring words of reassurance. So often they lie awake together until the sun rises, drawing comfort from each other.

.

No one sleeps well as they march south.

They go again through Gronder Field and past the charred remains of Fort Merceus.

They have a few small skirmishes with Empire forces, but nothing to truly trouble them. Not far from Enbarr they stop early in the afternoon, and Byleth makes her way to the designated meeting area with Claude and Dimitri, leaving the army behind them.

Edelgard has agreed to meet him.

While Dimitri expresses some doubt about Edelgard actually turning up for their meeting, both Byleth and Claude know she’ll be there.

They’re all tense as they wait, listening to the wind blow around them. Byleth’s eyes keep scanning the horizon, her fingers twitching towards her sword countless times. Edelgard has agreed to talk, but they can’t count out an ambush.

She can feel the tension radiating from the two men standing near her. She’s close enough to Dimitri to feel his slight jump of surprise when Edelgard suddenly blinks into appearance not far away, Hubert by her side.

She marches towards them, head held high, gaze clear as she takes them all in. There’s no hint of surprise at seeing Byleth or Claude with Dimitri.

“Here we all are again,” Edelgard says evenly, glancing from Dimitri to Claude before setting her gaze on Byleth, her expression unreadable.

For a split second Byleth is five years in the past, and sees the three of them as they had been the night she’d first met them – younger, dressed in their Garreg Mach uniforms. Like she’s suddenly pulled off the most powerful Divine Pulse she can muster without realising it.

Like she suddenly has the chance to make different decisions and stop this awful war before it begins.

But then she blinks and the image disappears and she’s once again standing in a field outside of Enbarr, flanked by Dimitri and Claude as they face a steely Edelgard, clad in her distinctive red armour.

Byleth had last seen it at Gronder, on that awful day. She thinks she can almost smell the burning bodies again, her nose clogged with smoke, her ears full of battle.

Dimitri takes a small step forward, and Byleth sees Hubert’s hand twitch and she tenses, ready to retaliate if needed. But he does nothing.

No doubt Hubert would happily take this opportunity to end them all if he could, but it appears Edelgard is genuine about talking. In that case, Byleth supposes that Hubert won’t attack unless provoked.

She wonders briefly if she should. Get her sword through Edelgard’s throat now – she knows Claude will back her up immediately and take out Hubert.

Would it save a battle and more death?

Would it break Dimitri’s trust in her?

Byleth grits her teeth and keeps still.

Dimitri wanted to talk to Edelgard. She’ll respect that.

“I will get straight to the point.” Dimitri straightens up, fixing his gaze on Edelgard, clearly in no mood for niceties. “Why did you start this war? There had to be a way to change things in your territory without the need for so many senseless casualties.”

Edelgard meets his gaze calmly and despite it all, Byleth can’t help but be impressed with her.

If only things had been different.

“It may be hard to believe,” Edelgard replies, “but this is the way that leads to the fewest casualties in the end. Don’t you see?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “How could I? Countless people have already lost their lives in this conflict.”

The two fall into a debate that Byleth already knows is going to go nowhere. There’s no chance of stopping the upcoming battle. While she listens, she takes in both Edelgard and Hubert, at the changes in them. When she meets Hubert’s eyes, they narrow at her, and Byleth can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about a way to kill her.

By her side, she feels Claude shift and she glances at him to see him staring at Hubert with a dangerous expression, clearly not liking the way he’s looking at her.

Edelgard mentioning Claude’s name snaps her attention back to the conversation. “This makes it clear to me that we can never understand each other, Dimitri. And you too, Claude. You’ve always been frustrating to deal with, but giving up control of the Alliance to him–“ her eyes flicker briefly to Dimitri ”– hardly seems the move of a master tactician.”

Claude smiles. His eyes remain cold. “I did hear that’s what you were calling me in Enbarr. Quite the nickname. And you’re right, princess, you wouldn’t understand it.”

“I see.” There’s a flash of annoyance in her eyes. Byleth’s not sure if it’s due to the old nickname or just how Edelgard feels about Claude in general.

Claude continues, his voice deceptively casual. “I’m more interested in talking about those weapons you used at Merceus. I’d say perhaps you played your hand too soon – after all, you lost a lot of troops trying to wipe us out – but I suppose you could hardly let Enbarr be destroyed. Had to stop us before that. Have you seen Merceus?” His voice turns hard. “It’s a smoking hole in the ground. There are no bodies, you know. Turned to ash.”

Edelgard’s lips thin, but she makes no other response to Claude’s words. Instead she looks back at Dimitri. “I believe there’s nothing more to be said. Goodbye, Dimitri.”

He frowns, glancing quickly at Claude and Byleth, no doubt dissatisfied with her lack of response to the weapons at Merceus. But when he calls for Edelgard to wait, it’s not to question her about that – instead it’s to reminisce on their childhood. Of a time before tragedy and bloodshed.

Not that it changes anything, and they all know that.

Both Byleth and Claude remains silent and let them talk, but she can feel Claude’s restlessness. No doubt there’s more he’d like to say to Edelgard if he could.

Edelgard stares down Dimitri. “King of Faerghus. As the Emperor, I shall await your arrival in Enbarr.”

With a final piercing look, Hubert places his hand on Edelgard’s arm, and they both warp away.

For a moment there is once again only the sound of the wind.

Dimitri sighs. “I suppose that went as well as could be expected.”

“I’d say it went better,” Claude replies. “I half expected Hubert to set us all on fire.” Despite his words, Byleth can hear the flicker of dissatisfaction in his tone.

There’s no reply from Dimitri; he simply stares at the space Edelgard had occupied just a few moments ago.

Claude glances at Byleth.

She tilts her head at him. _Give him a minute._

Eventually Dimitri raises his head and turns to Byleth. “Our path remains unchanged. I suppose it was too much to hope otherwise.” He glances back where Edelgard had just been standing, in the direction of Enbarr. “We must make our final preparations – we march at first light.”

He leaves, stalking back towards the camp, tension clear in his shoulders.

“Do you think he truly thought talking to Edelgard would stop the war?” Claude asks, looking on at Dimitri’s retreating back.

“I think he hoped more than anything else. But I think Edelgard never thought about Dimitri nearly as much as he thinks about her. She was never going to stop her path just because he asked.”

Claude hums thoughtfully. “She must know her chances aren’t good.”

Byleth frowns. “Unless she has something up her sleeve.”

They both scan the sky as if the javelins of light would suddenly appear, but then Claude shakes his head. “If she had them to use, she’d have used them by now, before we got so close to Enbarr.” He turns to Byleth. “We’ll win this. We’re almost at the end.”

She regards him with a serious expression. “And then you’ll go back to Almyra.”

“Yes. At some point.” His eyes search her face. “What do you want, Byleth, after the war?”

She opens her mouth to respond and then closes it.

She thinks she knows, but she’s not sure if she’s ready to say it, not when there’s still a battle to be fought.

Claude smiles gently and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he murmurs against her skin.

.

That night, Byleth presses kisses into Claude’s skin, feeling almost feverish with want. His eyes watch her, heavy but clear even in the dim confines of their tent, his hands stroking through her hair as she explores his skin.

The campsite is never fully quiet, and it covers up the sounds of their clothes rustling and harsh breathing, but Claude still has to bite his lip to stop from moaning out loud when Byleth straddles him. He welcomes her kiss, opening his mouth wide to her, anchoring himself to her as they steal these precious, final moments before battle.

And afterwards, when they’re both sated he whispers how much he loves her against her skin and hopes that whatever ending the battle at Enbarr will bring, it will be a new beginning for something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter (that I've been staring at unhappily for weeks and still don't like). I've been struggling to write and life is stressful and distracting (as it is for everyone at the moment). I hope everyone is staying safe. And thank you for reading/commenting – I'm not always great at replying but I do appreciate them and mostly just don't know what to say in response because everyone is so nice. <3333


	16. Chapter 16

That Edelgard had sidestepped Claude’s question about the weapons used at Merceus is not lost on any of them. It makes them wary, but they know that at least she won’t use them on Enbarr.

The battle in the city is brutal, but that’s not surprising. Dimitri may have a strong army and Fort Merceus may be gone, but Enbarr is the capital of Adrestia. It is not undefended. Byleth fights alongside Dimitri, with Dedue never far from them. It’s very different to the first time they’d fought together after she’d returned from her five year sleep, when they were defending Garreg Mach. Then, Dimitri had lost himself to bloodshed. Then, there had been no Dedue.

Now they work as a unit, looking out for each other. Dimitri’s strength is controlled, his focus never faltering. He’s a beacon for his people, standing tall with Aredhbhar glowing like an icon, his fair hair catching in the sunlight. He cleaves through the Empire troops, and his army follows. 

He looks like a king. 

.

Petra dies, fighting for a country not even hers. 

Byleth cannot stop to think about Brigid and what it might mean for them to lose their princess. She can’t stop to think about the sweet, hardworking girl she’d known back at the Academy. She can’t stop to grieve, not yet.

She can’t save her.

Hubert fights viciously, his magic ripping through his targets. But he too finally falls, fighting to his last breath for his Emperor.

Byleth will not mourn him, someone who felt more like an enemy than Petra or Ferdinand ever did, but it still makes her sad to know this path could not be changed, that she _couldn’t_ go back in time five years and stop all this horror and death from happening in the first place. 

.

They take the city. 

All that remains is the palace, with Edelgard inside, making her last stand. 

There is no time to stop and draw a breath, to give their enemies any chance to regroup, and so they forge ahead. Soon the palace of Enbarr is stained with blood.

That Edelgard herself transforms into a monster perhaps should not be surprising, considering all they’ve seen. But it is, and Byleth is left again with a deep grief at what this has all come to.

She can only hope it’s the final horror of this war. 

.

They defeat Edelgard, who falls to her knees, changing from her demonic form back to normal. Her face is downcast, and a silence falls across the room which until so recently had been filled with the sounds of battle. 

Dimitri steps forward, extending his hand.

The moment hangs. Sunlight breaks through the windows behind Edelgard.

As soon as she sees Edelgard’s hand moving, Byleth is already pulling her sword free, prepared to quickly whip it at her.

But Dimitri, even in his show of mercy, hasn’t lowered his defences, and he reacts just as quickly as Byleth. His spear strikes Edelgard through the chest just as the dagger she’s thrown embeds in his shoulder. 

An ugly, wet cough punches of of Edelgard’s mouth before she slumps forward, her blood staining the throne room of her palace.

Byleth turns away to see the familiar faces around her – Dedue, Felix. Mercedes. Hilda. So many of them.

And Claude, of course. He’s on foot here in the palace, and his face is grim as he stares at Dimitri’s back. 

Noticing Byleth watching him, he steps closer to her, brushing his hand against hers. 

A cheer goes up behind them, but Byleth can’t find it in herself to celebrate; tired and numb and not believing that this is the end of it just yet. 

She thinks Claude might feel the same way.

Sheathing her sword, she takes his hand in hers, squeezing tightly.

.

Byleth is still numb when Judith approaches her not long after the battle. The Hero of Daphnel looks unharmed, but exhausted. Byleth can relate. 

“A letter, addressed to you,” she states, handing over a letter with an unfamiliar seal. “One of the captured Imperial generals gave it to me.” 

Byleth takes the letter, frowning at it before quickly breaking the seal she doesn’t recognise and scanning the contents. As she reads, her frown deepens.

“Judith,” she says evenly when she’s finished reading, glancing up to find the other woman regarding her closely. “Can you find Claude for me?”

She nods, narrowing her eyes slightly at Byleth. “Not the king?”

“No, just Claude.” 

“Of course.” Judith leaves and Byleth scans her eyes over the letter again. She’ll show it to Dimitri soon, of course, but for now she just wants Claude’s input. 

.

It doesn’t take long for Claude to find her.

“What is it?” he asks, breathless, brow furrowed in concern.

Wordlessly, Byleth hands him the letter and he shoots her a glance but says nothing as he reads it. She watches his jaw clench, and a sigh leaves him as he finishes and meets her eyes again.

“Well, I can’t say that a letter from Hubert is what I was expecting.”

“But it answers the question of those weapons at Merceus. We can find where they are.”

“_If_ he’s telling the truth.” Claude’s eyes narrow at the letter in suspicion. 

“It also says Rhea is alive – first we find her. If she is, she might be able to confirm what this letter says.”

“You’re right.” Claude folds the letter and hands it back to her. “I suppose we should tell Dimitri.”

“Yes.” Byleth tucks the letter away, suddenly feeling anxious. 

Claude drops a hand on her arm before she can move. “Byleth,” he says softly. “If we find Rhea, she should have answers for you.”

Byleth stills, wondering at the hesitant look in his eyes. 

Claude goes on. “You know you don’t owe her anything. Not after what she did to you. And tried to do to you.” 

“I know,” she replies slowly. “I just want answers from her…. What’s wrong, Claude?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “There’s no doubt she’s had a horrible few years, and I’m happy to save her from that. But I don’t trust her, especially not with you.”

“It’s alright,” Byleth says softly, seeing that he’s worried. “We’re just talking to her.”

Claude exhales. “Right. Answers.” And a steely determination settles over him, and Byleth holds back a fond smile. He’s right to be worried about Rhea – it’s not like Byleth trusts her either. But Claude’s desire for answers and knowledge remains strong. 

.

They find Rhea beneath the palace, frail and wraithlike from her long time in captivity. It’s clear the years have not been kind to her, but she still rushes forward to wrap her arms around Byleth, who glances a little wide eyed at Claude and Dimitri. Claude looks on grimly, but Dimitri looks as surprised as Byleth.

“You came,” Rhea breathes, fingers clutching at her. “You saved me.” 

“I–“ Byleth starts and then stops, unsure how to deal with the weight of emotion in Rhea’s voice. “We did. Of course.” 

“Rhea!” From behind them, Seteth calls out, rushing towards them. Rhea turns to him with a smile and hugs him too, and then suddenly the eerie chamber Rhea had been held in is filled with people – Flayn clutching at Rhea’s hand, and Manuela and Mercedes, who gently tells everyone to give Rhea some space so they can check her health. 

“We have some questions for the Archbishop,” Claude says in a polite tone, but Manuela gives him an unimpressed look.

“That can _wait_, Claude. She’s been a through a lot – you can talk to her soon.”

His lips thin, but he can hardly argue. As far as everyone else is concerned, the war is over. Byleth has informed Dimitri of the letter, but that means that only three people know that another battle awaits. 

So Rhea can wait, but not for long.

.

They gather to discuss the letter and what it means.

_Those Who Slither in the Dark._

“Kind of a dramatic name, isn’t it?” Sylvain asks from across the room – an empty, large room at the palace of Enbarr, quickly repurposed for an impromptu war meeting. Because that’s what this is. Edelgard is dead, but the war is not yet over.

Hilda huffs. “Hubert was kind of a dramatic guy, wouldn’t you say?” She frowns, expression shifting to something troubled. “To think something like that could have existed so close to us…”

Byleth knows she’s uneasy by the idea of this group of people living so close to her home – that those weapons came not far from her own territory, unknown to all of them. 

Dimitri nods. “It is indeed an unsettling thought.” 

“We have to move on them soon – they could easily attack with the javelins of light again.” Byleth says it decisively, knowing it to be true even if they haven’t had a chance to speak to Rhea yet. What’s to stop these people from dropping the weapons on Enbarr once they hear of Edelgard’s defeat? Or on Garreg Mach, or Fhirdiad? 

“Yes,” Dimitri breathes. “And all we’ve worked for could be lost.” 

Claude is blunt. “We need to speak to Rhea. She has answers. And then we need to prepare for battle and move on this Shambhala soon.” His eyes dart to Dimitri, and Byleth knows he’s momentarily forgotten that he’s not in charge here. 

But it’s clear Dimitri agrees, as he’s nodding, seemingly unbothered by Claude’s comment. “Yes,” he says again, standing straighter as he addresses the crowded room. “Unfortunately our soldiers cannot rest yet. And I must ask you all again to fight.” He glances at Byleth. “And I’m sure the Archbishop will wish to speak to you as soon as she has rested. Hopefully she can tell us more.”

.

“My dear child,” Rhea whispers, face lighting up as Byleth enters the room Rhea has been given to rest in before she returns to Garreg Mach.

For a moment, Claude wonders if she’s going to acknowledge him, but then she does, her face turning towards him as he shuts the door behind him. “And Claude. You’ve grown up so much. Thank you again for saving me.”

Claude nods, feeling tense. Rhea looks better than she had yesterday – she’s been seen by healers, given a decent meal and allowed to rest. But she still looks frail. No magic can erase years of… whatever it is Rhea’s been going through. And while he might not care much for the woman himself, Claude is sensitive to that.

Rhea turns back to Byleth, and gestures for her to sit beside on her on the couch. “Are you well, Byleth?” Rhea reaches out to touch her hand gently, like she’s reassuring herself Byleth is truly here and Claude tries to force himself to relax, taking a seat opposite them. 

Byleth’s face is blank – not even Claude can tell what she’s thinking. 

But she’s polite. “I’m fine, thank you, Archbishop. But we have some questions to ask you. I realise this isn’t the most appropriate time, but it is urgent.”

Something flickers across Rhea’s face before it smooths out. “Of course.”

Claude steps forward, not wanting to waste anymore time. “Rhea. What do you know about the children of the goddess?”

Her eyes widen and she drops Byleth’s hands, although she recovers quickly and schools her expression. But her reaction, small as it is, lets Claude know that Rhea has heard of these_ children of the goddess_.

Still, her reply is careful. “What is this about?” She looks from Byleth to Claude and then back again. “I thought perhaps Dimitri would be with you, too.”

“He’s busy with his duties this morning,” Byleth replies, still polite, but there’s a veneer of ice to it. She obviously realises, just as Claude does, that Rhea is avoiding the question. “But he’ll visit you later. Rhea, please. Can you answer Claude’s question?”

Rhea’s eyes turn back to Claude, but remains silent. The colour is so similar to Byleth’s but to Claude, they’re nothing alike. 

He continues pressing her, trying not to let his impatience show, and finally, Rhea answers – though what she says is not what either of them are expecting. Instead, Rhea tells them of Nemesis, a story very different to the legend they knew. Nemesis, a bandit who massacred the children of the progenitor god, aided by those who slither in the dark; people who, Claude is realising, have been silently working in Fódlan for thousands of years. 

As Rhea talks, Claude watches her carefully even as his mind races. She’s still weak and drawn – even her voice wavers – but there’s an undercurrent of anger in her words. He can’t help but think there’s so much she isn’t telling them.

_Nemesis_.

And it seems Edelgard was used by these people in the same way, even if she was trying to use them too. 

When Rhea finishes speaking, he cuts his eyes to Byleth. Her face is composed, and Claude knows there are many who’d still describe her expression as blank, but he’s learned to see beyond that. Beyond that composed exterior, he knows there’s a storm going on underneath those bright green eyes.

.

Dimitri listens attentively with a frown as Claude relays what Rhea told them. Byleth remains silent, gaze fixed somewhere distant. 

“So our plan remains unchanged,” Dimitri says, lowering his gaze to the map spread out in front of him, eye falling on the pin that marks the location of Shambhala – at least, according to Hubert’s letter.

Claude nods, his attention still on Byleth. They haven’t had a chance to speak much since Enbarr had been taken, not when they’ve immediately got another march and battle to plan for. She’s been quieter than usual.

“Pro–“ Dimitri starts and then stops, rubbing the back of his neck. “Byleth.”

She turns her gaze to him wordlessly and Dimitri’s frown deepens. No doubt he can see what Claude can see – the weariness heavy on Byleth’s shoulders. 

“You should rest,” he eventually says, and Claude suspects that wasn’t what he’d been going to say. 

Byleth’s gaze sharpens. “So should you.”

His eye drops down again. “I will. Soon. But you should–“ Dimitri makes an expansive gesture ”– get some food and retire for the night. You too, Claude.” 

Claude tilts his head at Dimitri and asks in a light tone, “Are you dismissing us, Your Princeliness?” 

Dimitri’s eyebrows raise. “Yes, if that’s what it takes.” 

Claude is fine with that. Preparations for Shambala are well underway. Their blended army is working better together than he could ever have expected. While the soldiers are weary of another battle, they’d all seen those javelins of light. Everyone knows the people behind them must be stopped. It’s a good motivator. 

And Byleth needs to rest – even if she didn’t have to use her powers to turn back time at Enbarr, it’s clear Merceus is still affecting her. She does so much for so many, and Claude is happy not to be the only one to remind her to take time for herself. 

Byleth narrows her eyes, first at Claude and then at Dimitri. “Fine. But I will check with Dedue to make sure you do rest.” She pauses. “And Marianne. She’s been concerned.”

To Claude’s amusement, a slight flush crosses Dimitri’s cheeks. “Please, Professor… Byleth,” he amends in a hurry, and Claude bites back a grin. “There is no need. I give you my word that I will take rest tonight.”

“Alright.” She glances over to Claude. “I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.”

This time, he does grin. “You’re always hungry, Teach,” he says fondly. He walks towards her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, a thrill of delight still ringing through him at even this simple touch. 

As they bid Dimitri goodnight and leave the room, Byleth leans into him with a tiny sigh. Claude slips his hand down to take hold of hers; squeezing gently, saying without words _I’m here and you can lean on me_.

.

Later, in the dead of night, Claude wakes, hand scrambling across the empty side of the bed, searching for the body that should be there.

There’s still traces of Byleth’s warmth on the sheets, and Claude sits up, blinking. 

She’s standing by the window, staring out into the night. The moon catches on her hair, making it look silver. She has a blanket wrapped around her; he knows she’s bare underneath it.

Hearing him move, she turns to face him. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

Claude regards her, but is unable to make out much of her expression in the dim room. “You should be sleeping,” he says softly. 

Byleth sighs. “I can’t.”

“Nightmares?” They both have them at times. 

“Mm.” Her response is noncommittal as she turns back to the window. 

Throwing off the covers, Claude hauls himself out of the bed and makes his way over to her, a shiver running down his back in the cool night air. Enbarr isn’t as cold as Derdriu, but it’s still cold to him. 

He wraps his arms around her, pressing himself against her, seeking her warmth. She immediately relaxes back into him, and Claude nuzzles his face into her hair. 

“Byleth,” he whispers, drawing out her name into almost a whine. “Come back to bed. I’m cold.” 

She turns in his arms, sneaking her hands out from under the blanket so she can touch him. They’re warm against his cooling skin. “That’s because you’re naked,” she states, but Claude is relieved to hear a hint of amusement in her voice. 

“Is that not all the more reason for you to come back to bed?” Claude responds teasingly. 

Byleth smiles up at him, faintly, but it soon fades. “I suppose I should make the most of it,” she murmurs, eyes dropping from his face to his chest. “Before you leave.”

_Ah_. Claude had assumed that the reason for Byleth’s pensiveness had been Rhea. He tightens his hold on her, considering what to say, wondering if his reticence in telling Byleth exactly what he wants has been a mistake.

“I’ll be glad when the war is over,” Byleth continues quietly. “But I know what it means.” 

“Come on,” he repsonds, just as quietly, stepping away to lead her back to the bed. He’s relieved when she follows, and he pulls the blanket away from her, helping her into the bed before climbing in himself. 

Byleth lies on her side facing him, and Claude scoots closer, tangling their legs together. 

“I’m not going to disappear the day we win, you know.” As he talks, Byleth traces his face with her fingers. “And I don’t want to leave you at all.” He takes her hand to press a kiss to her palm, making her sigh.

“But it will come to that, won’t it?” There’s no trace of bitterness in the words, just acceptance. 

“Does it have to?” Claude searches her face, trying to figure out what she’s thinking. He takes a deep breath, moving closer to her so that their faces are almost touching. “I love you. I want to marry you.” 

Byleth’s eyes widen slightly. “Will you be able to?”

“I’d like to see someone try and stop me,” he mutters. 

“From what you’ve said,” she starts hesitantly. “It sounds like your mother had a hard time. As did you. I’m worried that I wouldn’t be… I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your dream.” 

He blinks. “You would never.”

But Byleth still looks sceptical. “Can you still take the throne, with a Fódlan bride?”

“Yes,” he answers with confidence. He’s going to face difficulty either way. He’d much rather go through it with Byleth at his side than without.

He also knows that Byleth’s demeanour and prowess in battle will win over a lot of people. Almyrans respect strength.

“I’m not going to lie to you and say it would be easy. I know what I’m asking, and that I’m asking you to potentially be queen of a country you’ve never even been to, that I’m asking you to still fight someone else's battles. And I understand if you don’t want that.” 

Byleth’s expression is unfathomable and Claude tries not to let his fear of her rejection show on his face. 

“I want to help you achieve your dream,” she says quietly. “I don’t really have… a dream of my own.” Her brow furrows. “But when I think of the future, the only thing I’m sure about is that I want you to be in it.”

Claude smiles, relieved and endeared by her simple statement, even if their situation is anything but simple. “I want that too. And there’s no reason why you can’t find a dream of your own. When we win at Shambhala… after that, you’ll have time to find it.” 

“Mm,” Byleth responds, in the way that lets him know that she has doubts about what he’s saying. Her eyes drift away from his face for a moment before snapping back. “And do you think I can find it in Almyra?” 

“You can find it anywhere,” Claude responds truthfully. He knows that much. He takes a deep breath. “Byleth, the last thing I want to do is force you into a role you don’t want. But I do want to show you Almyra, the good and the bad. And I want to be with you, even if you stay in Fódlan.”

“How do you see that working?” She asks, voice still quiet.

“Well, with wyverns, for one. And I build a nice palace near the Throat so there’s less flying.” 

Byleth smiles. “So many plans you have.” She falls silent, and Claude lets her sort out her thoughts, enjoying the gentle feel of her fingers against his skin. It’s strange, he thinks, how little he ever touched or let himself be touched by anyone before she came back into his life. Now he can’t get enough of it, greedy for anything she’ll give him; just as greedy as he is to touch her. With that thought, he slides a hand down the smooth expanse of her back, enjoying the way she presses into his touch.

“I think…” Byleth begins slowly. “It’s hard for me to imagine leaving Fódlan. I feel guilty for imagining it. Like I’m running away from something.”

“From what?”

Frowning, she drops her hand from his face and rolls onto her back, glaring up at the ceiling. “I’m not sure. From Rhea, perhaps. Or from whatever position Dimitri will offer me after the war.”

“Whether you’re here or in Almyra, you’ll be powerful, my friend.”

“I don’t want _power_. But I like to help people and having power helps me do that.”

Propping himself him on an elbow, Claude makes a noise of agreement. “I need power to achieve my dreams. Being king is the only way to get that power. I don’t want power just for powers sake.” 

She turns to him, mirroring his position. “And when you achieve your dreams?” 

“I’ll stick around long enough to make sure it’s stable, and that whoever follows me will carry on the work. And then I’ll step down and enjoy what we’ve built.” He sees her lips quirk upwards at the use of the word _we_.

“That sounds nice,” Byleth says wistfully.

“Doesn’t it?” Claude scoots closer, gathering Byleth to him until he’s lying on his back with her sprawled across him, her hair tickling his cheek. “Come with me to Almyra after we win this battle. You don’t need to decide anything yet, but I just… want to show it to you. And introduce you to my parents. They’ll like you.”

He’s looking forward to seeing his parents again, despite the complicated relationship he has with them. And they will like Byleth, he has no doubt about that.

Byleth raises her head to look him in the eye. “Okay.”

He can’t help the smile spreading across his face. “Okay?”

“I’ll come with you to Almyra. Are you sure you don’t mind waiting a bit longer for me to… decide?”

His hands trace over her back reverently. “Of course not. I’d wait forever.”

Byleth returns his smile with a soft one of her own. “I won’t make you wait that long, I promise.” She presses a soft kiss to his lips, and Claude sighs into it. He chases her lips when she pulls back, but her expression has turned serious again.

“You need to tell the others,” she says firmly.

Claude exhales loudly. “I know.” It’s something he’s thought about a lot, and it’s still not something he wants to do. It risks upsetting the balance that’s been found between him and Dimitri, risks the relationship between the countries and pushing them further apart. That’s the opposite of what he wants. 

And then there’s the personal consequences of it. How will his friends look at him, knowing that he’s kept hidden so much of himself? 

“I had thought once Edelgard was defeated it would be easier,” he admits.

“I don’t think any of us could have predicted this happening,” Byleth murmurs, shifting herself over him as his hands smooth down her back. 

“And Dimitri has been pretty intense since he killed her.”

Byleth is silent for a moment, remembering Dimitri’s shadowed face as he’d turned away from Edelgard’s body.

“He tries to hide how much he still struggles sometimes,” she says slowly. “I know he still hears the whispers of the dead. I don’t know if he’ll ever be fully free of it and it can’t have been easy for him to do that, especially not after what we’d just seen.” The sight of Edelgard’s monstrous face flashes in Byleth’s mind and she’s hit with an unexpected pang of grief, wondering, not for the first time, if she’d gotten to know Edelgard better, if her path could have been changed. 

“She must have known he’d kill her as soon as she reached for the dagger,” Claude muses.

“Perhaps she did.” And they’d never know.

“As bad it sounds, it’s probably for the best. If Edelgard lived, even if she was defeated, she’d still be a rallying point for Empire loyalists. Dimitri might have come to regret his mercy.” 

Byleth nods against him. “The same could be said about you.”

“I know,” Claude replies heavily. “That’s partially why I wasn’t planning on staying in Fódlan. People get dissatisfied with the current leader, they look to the last one who suddenly seems a whole lot better. They figure they can reinstate them, and have them in their debt. Dimitri himself must have thought of that – plenty of the others have.” He sighs. “I do feel like the longer I don’t tell Dimitri the more difficult it might be for him to accept, but–”

“It’s never been the right time,” Byleth finishes.

“Right.” As he speaks, Claude yawns widely. 

Softly, Byleth says, “You should sleep.”

“_We_ should sleep,” Claude immediately amends.

“Claude,” she sighs. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to.”

“Then at least rest.” He turns onto his side, and Byleth tucks her head under his chin, curling herself around him. “I’ll be here.”

.

“I should have learned to ride a pegasus,” Hilda grumbles as her wyvern playfully nips her fingers.

Claude laughs from where he stands not far off, stroking Meissa’s scales gently. He knows there’s no truth in Hilda’s words, that she’d taken to wyvern riding far quicker than she’d ever expected – and that she loves it.

“A pegasus is more befitting a delicate maiden such as yourself,” he agrees.

“See, you just get it, Claude!” But Hilda’s eyes remain on her wyvern, her expression fond. After a final pet on the creature’s head, she steps away to stow the saddle for the night. They’re on the march to Shambhala, and expect to reach the location provided by Hubert the next day. It still seems crazy to Claude that they’re trusting Hubert’s words – marching an entire army on them, but what other options do they have? They can’t ignore the threat and risk the javelins of light landing on them again.

Hilda approaches him with a tired sigh. “Meissa is so pretty,” she says wistfully. “It’s a shame white wyverns are so rare. Holst says he’s only ever seen one once before – some Almyran general he fought in the Throat.” 

Claude forces himself to stay relaxed. _Some Almyran general_ is likely one of his half-brothers from his father’s first marriage, or perhaps one of his cousins. 

White wyverns are rare and coveted – and reserved for members of the royal family. 

Nader had called it a brash move to bring Meissa to Fódlan instead of just flying on a regular wyvern that would draw less attention. But Claude knew no one here would know the significance and, well, _attention_ is the point of the white wyvern. 

_Here I am_, it says. _Just try and knock me out of the sky. You will regret it._

He turns to Hilda with a wink. “Being a Duke has benefits.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Are you even a Duke anymore? No one is sure _what_ you are.”

Nothing new there, he thinks. “Oh, I’m still very much Duke Riegan. I gave up the Alliance, not my title.” 

“Not unless Dimitri does away with all that.” 

“I doubt it. I know he wants to change Fódlan for the better, but he’ll need the nobility on his side to do it. And while I know the likes of Felix might not care about his title, there are plenty who do. And anyway,” Claude shifts to a lighter tone, “Dimitri is from _Faerghus_. They’re nothing if not traditional.”

Hilda looks thoughtful as observes him continuing to stroke Meissa.

Pausing, Claude glances at her. “You don’t seem particularly bothered by the idea of no longer being _Lady Goneril_.”

She shrugs. “Maybe because I knew it before you said it – that Dimitri would never do that. But… I suppose it’s never been that important to me. And I know now that’s because I never had to think about it. My brother will inherit and he’ll always take care of me. I’ve never been pressured to marry and make heirs the way Ingrid or Sylvain or even Lorenz has.” A frown crosses her face. “Even if we lost our title, Holst would always take care of me.”

“You can take care of yourself, Hilda,” Claude replies evenly. He’s spent enough time with Hilda on and off the battlefield to say that with certainty. 

Once again, she shrugs, looking away. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she says airily, dismissing the idea. “_Anyway_,” she says pointedly, “we are talking about _you_, Not-So-Leader-Man.”

“My favourite topic. There’s so much to say.” He bats his eyelashes at her. “What shall we discuss? My devastating good looks? My skill with a bow? The devastating way I ride my wyvern?”

“Ugh, gross.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips. “I don’t know how the Professor puts up with you.” Crossing her arms, Claude represses a sigh. He can tell she’s not to be dissuaded from whatever it is she wants to say. “So,” Hilda goes on. “You’re still a Duke. After we defeat these weirdos tomorrow, the war will finally be over. Dimitri will probably make you one of his advisors, along with the Professor, but that seems so strange to me.”

“Mm?” Claude hums, noncommittally as he removes Meissa’s saddle, curious as to where she’s going with this. 

“I just can’t see it.” Hilda is looking at him shrewdly now. “Maybe I got so used to you being in charge and while Dimitri is fine and all, where are you going to fit into everything?”

For a long moment, Claude is silent as he turns from her and stores the saddle. Hilda waits. 

And then, with a surge of unexpected emotion, he turns back to her. “I’m not going to fit into it,” he finally says, pushing out the words with difficulty.

Hilda stares, lips pouting in displeasure. “What?”

“I’m not staying in Fódlan.”

“But–“ Hilda shakes her head. “Where are you– does Byleth know?” The last part explodes from her, almost in anger. And despite it being directed at him, Claude is glad to know Hilda cares about Byleth.

“She knows,” he assures her. 

It doesn’t immediately quell her displeasure. “Where are you going?” 

“Back where I came from.” 

“Claude…” Hilda sighs at the non answer. 

“I’m from Almyra, Hilda.”

She starts in surprise, eyes widening. “You– but your mother?”

“Is Tiana von Riegan. She married an Almyran.” He leaves off the word _prince_ at the end of that sentence. One thing at a time.

He can see Hilda working through it, running through all the stories she’s heard about his mother. “I don’t know what to say,” she says faintly. 

_That’s a first_. “You could say you don’t hate me,” Claude replies with honesty. 

That makes her give him her best unimpressed look, but there’s an undercurrent of hurt in her tone. “I could never hate you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why do you think?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, looking chagrined. Claude suspects she’s remembering every time she ever said something ignorant to him about Almyra. “I… I get it, I think,” she whispers, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, Claude. I hope you don’t hate _me_.”

He huffs. “How could I ever hate you? You’re one of my best friends.”

Her cheeks puff up in a watery smile and suddenly she throws herself at him in a hug. This time, he laughs properly, patting her on the back. 

The hug doesn’t last long before Hilda steps back, glaring up at him. “Only _one_ of your best friends?”

This time it’s his turn to shrug. “Teach is my best friend.”

Hilda softens. “I’ll allow that, I suppose. Will she go with you… to Almyra?” She says the words like they feel strange on her tongue. Claude supposes they probably do.

“She hasn’t decided yet.” 

A delicate pause, but then Hilda smiles. “It will work out, Claude. You’ve come this far and you two are good together.”

“Yeah,” he responds, feeling buoyed by the sincerity in Hilda’s words. “We are.” 

They both begin making their way back towards the sleeping tents. Before they reach the mass of people, Claude pauses, with Hilda following suit, turning back to look at him questioningly.

“Hilda.” He considers his words. “There are other things I have to tell you, that you might not like that I’ve kept hidden.” Claude swallows heavily. He’ll never get used to feeling this vulnerable. “But I can’t tell you yet.” 

“O-kayyyy,” she draws out the word, looking at him with scrutiny and, he’s sure, some curiosity. After a moment, she relents. “Fine. So long as you aren’t keeping secrets from Byleth.”

His lips twitch. “No. She knows all my hidden depths.” 

Hilda rolls her eyes. “You better tell me soon. Before you leave.” As she says the words, her mouth turns downwards, like she’s just realises that he’s _leaving_.

With a rueful smile, he promises, “Of course I will, Hilda. You’ll be among the first to know.” 

She nods, and they both begin their walk again. “Hey, Claude?” Hilda asks after a few minutes of silent walking. “Can you tell me a bit about Almyra before you leave? I don’t really know much except…” She trails off with a grimace, and Claude knows what she’s thinking.

_I don’t really know much except what I’ve been told, and that’s that the Almyrans are savage barbarians who raid our borders, rape our women, and steal our children. _

The ideas about Fódlan on the other side of the border were equally as unflattering and false, and Claude has heard them all. 

But still, he smiles, wondering if this is where he begins to break down those ideas. Maybe this is where he starts to cut a mountain in half.

“I’d love to, Hilda. After we win, and before I leave, I’ll tell you.”

“Good,” she replies, brightening up. “I’ll hold you to that.” 

They part not soon after, each to their own tents, and Claude feels a sense of peace at Hilda’s easy acceptance, not even realising until now how much he’d feared her rejection. 

He can only hope everyone is as accepting. 

.

“Dimitri?” Byleth calls out lowly to him. He’s standing at the edge of a cluster of trees, a bit away from the main camp, seemingly lost in thought.

Rousing himself, he turns to face her. “Byleth,” he greets, and she’s pleased to see him saying her name easier. “I thought you had retired by now.”

She shakes her head, trying to ignore her weariness. There’s been too much to do, and she’ll only grab a scant few hours sleep before they begin the final march to Shambhala in the morning. 

“I came to see how you are,” is all she says.

A brief smile flickers on his face, small but genuine. “I am well.” Turning away, his gaze travels across the field, seemingly looking at nothing in the gathering night. “You have always made the the time to check on us. We would not have made it through the war without you,” Dimitri continues softly. “I can only hope this is our last battle. Thank you, Professor.”

Perhaps he’s not so used to saying her name, after all, but she lets it go. There’s too much sincerity in his words for it to bother her. 

“I was worried,” she murmurs, “after Enbarr.” 

“Ah.” He takes a deep breath. “Edelgard… El. She made her choice. Her death will not haunt me like so many others have.”

“I’m glad for that, at least.” 

Facing her again, Dimitri smiles again, something wistful in it. “I regret that our lives led us down such different paths, but I hope once we eliminate this threat at Shambhala, we can begin to rebuild. I must be the king the people of all of Fódlan, not just Faerghus, needs.”

He certainly sounds like a king, at least. And while Byleth knows Dimitri is already putting a lot of pressure on himself, she also knows that he’s surrounded by people who will support and guide him. People who care for _him_, and not just the fact that he’s a king. 

And she knows that even if she leaves Fódlan tomorrow, he’ll be fine without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd apologise for the delay on this chapter, but in my defense it's because I was writing two fics for The Golden Gifts Claudeleth exchange which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839081) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131305). 😘
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and sticking with this story! We're in the end stretch now.


	17. Chapter 17

Seteth finds Byleth as she’s walking back through the camp after her talk with Dimitri. 

He looks a little agitated, but remains polite as he greets her. “Byleth, the Archbishop wishes to speak to you.”

Byleth blinks. “Now?” It’s getting late, and this is the night before an important battle. What can Rhea possibly have to say to her _now_.

“Evidently.” Seteth doesn’t look too impressed by it either. 

Despite her uneasiness about it, Byleth agrees to go, following Seteth to the comfortable tent that Rhea resides in. 

Everyone had protested her joining the army on this march, but she’d been insistent. Seteth and Flayn took care of her comfort, while the Knights of Serios gathered around her, relieved to have their Archbishop back – although Rhea had made it clear they are still to take their orders from Byleth, something which left her feeling uneasy. 

“How is she?” Byleth asks in a low voice.

A troubled look crosses Seteth’s face. “She is recovering from her captivity, but she remains very weak. I continue to question why she is forcing herself to accompany the army – we could have her safely back in Garreg Mach, where we can better take care of her.” He shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “But you know Rhea. Her will is as strong as ever.”

_No_, Byleth thinks, she doesn’t know Rhea. She doesn’t want to know Rhea – her father’s suspicion of the Archbishop would have been enough to make her keep her distance, but nothing Rhea has done since Byleth has known her has made her inclined to get closer. Not for the first time, Byleth thinks of the words in her father’s journal.

So she remains silent as they pass through the busy encampment, eventually coming to the large tent with the flag of the Church of Seiros flapping outside. Catherine is standing guard, and she nods in greeting to Seteth and Byleth, stepping aside to let them enter.

Rhea is sitting propped up against a number of cushions, sipping tea with Flayn. She manages to retain her commanding air even in her current position and with the unhealthy pallor of her skin from her long imprisonment. 

Her eyes light up as Byleth enters.

Something in Rhea’s bright eyed gaze makes Byleth want to turn around and walk away. But she doesn’t, instead stepping into the tent and greeting the Archbishop and Flayn.

It takes a few minutes for Flayn and Seteth to leave, and the whole time Rhea gazes at Byleth with that look.

With no small amount of trepidation, Byleth settles herself in the cushions Flayn has just vacated.

“Rhea,” she begins evenly, deciding to skip the pleasantries. “You wished to speak to me?” 

Rhea smiles, and reaches a hand to rest on top of Byleth’s. Her skin is cold, and Byleth resists the urge to flinch.

“Yes, my child. It is long overdue, don’t you think?”

.

The sound of the tent flap being pulled harshly back and the steps of someone entering has Claude sitting up, grasping for the axe by his side before he’s even aware of it. He’d been sleeping lightly, as he so often did, and it only takes him a second to realise the person who has entered is who he’d fallen asleep waiting for, and he relaxes.

But it’s immediately clear that Byleth is the exact opposite of _relaxed_. He watches her as she remains silent, pulling off her weapons and armour with jerky movements, not even looking in his direction.

Claude frowns. She’d either not noticed or ignored the fact that he’s woken up – both unusual – and she… she looks angry. Livid, almost. It’s not an expression he’s ever seen on Byleth’s face before, and he doesn’t like it.

“Byleth.”

She stops at the sound of her name, her back turned to him.

“She wants me to be Archbishop,” she says, and even though he can’t see her face, Claude knows she’s saying it through gritted teeth.

His mind works fast. “Rhea?” 

Turning to him, still obviously angry, he can’t help but think her hair and eyes look almost otherworldly in the dim light. “Yes. She’s not sure if she’ll survive and even if she does, she wants me to take over the Church, officially.” Byleth takes a deep breath, her hands fisting by her side. “She didn’t even _ask_, she just told me–“

By now, Claude has scrambled out of the bed, stepping over the weapons and armour strewn on the ground to wrap his arms around her. 

“It’s the night before a battle,” she mutters into the fabric of his shirt, voice muffled. “I can’t be distracted by this. This couldn’t have _waited_?”

Claude smooths a hand down her hair, swallowing down his own irritation at Rhea. _Archbishop_? He knows that whatever Byleth may want, it isn’t _that_. But he also knows that she’ll do want she can to help Dimitri and Fódlan, and if that means becoming Archbishop of a religion she doesn’t believe in, she will. 

Dimitri would accept her as Archbishop, of course. There’s no doubt about that.

And Claude hates himself a little bit because he knows having Byleth in such a powerful position here would only help _him_. What was it she had said to him, not long ago?

_“I don’t want power. But I like to help people and having power helps me do that.”_

She’d do it for everyone else.

But she’d be here, in Fódlan. And he’d be in Almyra.

Two very different – but both equally selfish, desires are warring within Claude. 

But Byleth doesn’t need to hear about that. He won’t make this harder for her. 

“She should have waited,” he murmurs, still smoothing his hand over her hair and her back. He feels her sigh and lean into him. _She should never have said anything_, is what he’s really thinking. “You don’t have to–“

“I don’t want it,” Byleth interrupts him fiercely, drawing away to look at his face. The anger on her face has morphed into something else, something even fiercer – something that Claude could never have imagined her looking like when he’d first met her, so long ago, when managing to get the tiniest smile or hint of a raised eyebrow felt like a victory. To think, that all this was hidden underneath.

Carefully, he responds, “You don’t?” 

“Of course I don’t.” There’s something almost desperate in her tone. “Whatever I do next, I want it to be my own choice. I didn’t choose any of this.” She frowns then, the fight draining out of her as she she looks up at his, curling her hands around his shoulders. “Except you.”

“A fine choice,” Claude drawls with more levity than he really feels, but it seems to make her relax a bit. 

“I asked her,” Byleth continues dully. “About my birth.”

Claude stills, unable to curb his intense curiosity. “Oh?”

“I didn’t have a heartbeat.” Byleth is as still as Claude as she keeps her steady gaze on his face. “My mother begged Rhea to save my life. My mother – _Sitri_ –“ She breaths out the name like a prayer – “held the Crest of Flames. Rhea took it out of her and put it into me, saving my life, even if my heart still doesn’t beat.”

Swallowing heavily, Claude processes this. “When you say the Crest of Flames…”

“The Crest Stone.”

They both glance briefly at the Sword of the Creator, lying haphazardly on the floor of the tent. 

“My mother,” Byleth continues, “had been one of Rhea’s…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what to call it. One of her attempts to bring back Sothis. She hoped that those who held the Crest Stone inside them would awaken her. But none of them ever did.”

“Before you.” 

Byleth nods. “I didn’t tell Rhea that I could speak with Sothis. I’ve never told her anything.”

A heavy silence falls between them, both of them deep in thought.

“I can understand why Jeralt faked your death and ran away from the monastery. Even if he didn’t know exactly what Rhea had done, he knew it was…”

“But she saved my life,” Byleth interrupts softly. 

Claude is a touch sharper than he intends when he replies, “That doesn’t mean you owe her anything.”

With a wan smile, she reaches up with both her hands to cup his face. “I know that. I don’t want to be Archbishop. I’m going to refuse it.”

His breath catches. His hands tighten on her. “You are?”

Byleth nods, smoothing her thumbs over the swell of his cheeks. “I know what it is I’m refusing. I know how useful it would be. Being acting Archbishop during the war was one thing, but I can’t picture myself doing what Rhea did.”

Claude takes a long inhale, trying to imagine Byleth leading sermons like Rhea had, back when he’d been a student, wearing the same vestaments. He can’t. 

But, still… “You’d be good at it.” 

Byleth’s eyes narrow.

“No, I can’t see you doing what Rhea did, but that doesn’t mean you’d have to. You could do something different – something better.”

Hurt flashes across her face, and her hands fall from him as she steps back out of his arms. “You’re talking like you want me to do it.”

The anger that had been present when she’d entered the tent seems to be returning, and Claude feels a stab of guilt. “I don’t,” he responds, honestly, because while having Byleth as Archbishop might be good for his dreams in one way, it likely wouldn’t be in another. “But I have to consider all the possibilities. You know how I think, By.”

She sighs, shoulders drooping slightly. “I do.” This time, she goes to him, pressing herself to his chest and sliding her arms around his waist.

Claude presses his face into her hair. “I couldn’t marry you if you were Archbishop,” he whispers, almost shamefully. Almyra has its own religion, and Claude can’t see how the head of the Church of Seiros could possibly marry a foreign king supposedly of a different faith, even if he wasn’t religious or really believed in it at all.

Her hands fist the fabric of his shirt. “No,” she responds, just as quietly, “I’d have to give up too much. But I feel guilty.”

“You shouldn’t. You’ve done so much. You deserve to live your own life, Byleth.” 

She nods against him. “You’re right.” 

“Always am.”

The small laugh she makes against him is gratifying, and Byleth pulls back to meet his eyes again. “I want to talk to Seteth about this. But it can wait.” She straightens up, and Claude can see her compartmentalising the issue in front of his eyes, her anger and uncertainty disappearing – at least for now. It’s quite impressive. “For now,” she continues, a note of steel in her voice, “we have a battle to win.”

.

Byleth might find Shambhala impressive – maybe even beautiful in its own way – if she had a chance to admire it. But with their own troops clustered into the underground city with its eerie blue light and strange markings, and the forces of Those Who Slither in the Dark fighting against them, she finds it claustrophobic and hard to get her bearings.

The strangeness of the place, and the stagnant air of this city that sees no sunlight, has everyone on edge. Byleth can’t help but think of Rhea’s other words to her in their previous conversation – that Byleth is most in danger here, as Those Who Slither in the Dark know she can use the Sword of the Creator, that she is linked with the progenitor god.

_Sothis_, Byleth calls out to her as she has countless times these past few months, _I wish I could still hear you._

The mechanical beasts that they battle in Shambhala are as dangerous as any demonic beast, and Byleth has to pull back time to prevent heavy losses – first to save Ashe from falling to a dark mage, and then Mercedes as she’s busy healing another. When one of the mechanical beasts wipes out an entire battalion. When she hears a sickening scream from Leonie.

And then, a sickening blast of dark magic pierces Claude and Byleth pulls back time before she even knows if he survives or not, not willing to consider it, or even think it. She can’t even _acknowledge_ it, to stop and think about the look of pain on his face as the colour drained from his face, as Failnought dropped to the ground.

No.

_No_.

Sweat drips down her back, and her hair sticks to her neck. There is no hope of a cooling breeze down here, there is just the endless onslaught of Shambhala’s forces and the pulse of their magic through the air. 

And then there is Thales, and for a brief moment Byleth is transported back to the day she lost her father – when this man had stood in front of her and stopped her from saving Jeralt. 

She ignores his taunting words and the cruel tilt of his smile, raising her sword and using everything Jeralt taught her to kill the man that stopped her from saving him. 

Thales is powerful, that much is clear, but as Byleth battles him, the other mages supporting him fall to Dimitri’s army, leaving him vulnerable. 

Byleth presses her advantage.

“You will never get to enjoy your victory,” Thales snarls as he backs away, Byleth approaching him carefully, ready to strike the final blow, knowing that Dimitri and Claude are not far behind her.

Stepping back onto a platform, Thales crouches, his eyes glowing in sync with the runes on the floor around him as he glares at Byleth. 

“For all Agarthans… let there be light!”

There’s a thrum of power through the stale air and the murmur of alarm from her comrades behind her lets Byleth know that she’s not the only one who feels it. 

The ground beneath their feet rumbles. By her side, Dimitri calls back in alarm to the others, but Byleth can’t make out the words over the rushing noise in her ears. 

Thales is still glaring at her, a sneer curling his lips, satisfaction written across his face. Knowledge that says _We will still win_.

The stone ceiling above them crumbles, and Byleth jumps back out of pure instinct before she can be hit by a large chunk of debris. Glancing up, she’s momentarily blinded by the clear sky suddenly being above her, illuminating the underground city. 

She blinks, lowering her gaze and squinting back behind her, to check on the others.

Distantly, she hears Thales laugh.

“Professor–“ Dimitri’s voice sounds beside her, but whatever he’s about to say is lost as another rumble shakes the ground and another hole in the ceiling opens above them. Nearby, she hears an explosion, and screaming, but she can’t place where it is, not among all the falling stone.

It reminds her of Merceus.

_What is happening?_

Claude suddenly appears by her other side, panting hard. “By,” he gasps out, and her focus narrows to the fact that he appears to be injured, holding his arm awkwardly, blood darkening the gold of his sleeve. “Look!” He gestures with his uninsured arm to the hole in the ceiling, and she sees them immediately. 

The javelins of light, rapidly heading their way. Already too close.

Byleth doesn’t stop to think, she just grasps her power and pulls back time. She knows she’s already used it too often in this battle, and knows she won’t have many chances to make this right.

As it is, when she blinks and the word comes into focus again, she stumbles slightly, and a hand grabs her arm, keeping her steady.

She turns to find Felix glaring at her. “What’s wrong with you? Pay attention!” 

His manner, brusque as it is, is still familiar and calming in its own way. Byleth takes a deep breath, glancing around to place where and when she is. It doesn’t take her long – this is just before they engaged the mages defending Thales before going for the man himself. She can work with that. “I’m fine, thank you, Felix.”

His hand drops from her and he steps forward, obviously satisfied that she means what she says. 

Like she had at Merceus, Byleth uses her knowledge of what’s already happened to make the battle go smoother. This time, she won’t give Thales a chance to bring the javelins of light down on them all. That he’s willing to destroy himself and Shambhala to defeat them means she needs to work quickly – even if Byleth is to order everyone to evacuate now, it’ll take too long for them to get back through the maze-like layout of this place. 

And she’s sure Thales won’t let them get far before he calls the javelins down. She needs to take him down before he gets a chance to do it.

Byleth shakes her head, trying to dispel some lingering lightheadedness. _No weakness_, she tells herself. She can’t allow it.

She sees Claude as she presses forward again, uninjured, with Hilda not far from him. There’s Dimitri and Dedue, who have just been joined by Felix, his blade slashing through a mage before it could finish casting.

There are others too, in this small, chaotic space, and beyond all of them is Thales. 

Byleth doesn’t rush, because that could mean her death, but she moves towards him quicker than the first time. But unlike her experience battling the death knight for the second time, this doesn’t go quite so according to plan. Thales’ magic is powerful, less predictable, and he inches backwards and calls down the javelins right before Byleth can land the finishing blow.

She’d made it closer, but not close enough. 

Gritting her teeth, she rewinds time again. 

Once more, twice more.

_No weakness_, she tells herself, like repeating it might make it true.

Each time she makes progress, but it’s never enough; the roof always crumbles, Claude is always injured, and they are all doomed to die by the javelins mere moments away from landing, and she will _not allow it_.

“Professor!” There’s no impatience in Felix’s tone this time, just concern he’s not able to mask. “You’re bleeding,” he states, gesturing at her face.

Byleth raises a hand to her nose as she tries to find her bearings. She doesn’t know how many more pulses she has left in her and for a moment her vision blurs, and Felix’s hand snaps out to steady her again.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, alarmed, but she doesn’t get a chance to reply before Claude is suddenly before her. Felix steps back, glancing between them and the fighting up ahead. 

“Go, Felix,” Claude says evenly, not taking his eyes off her, resting both hands on her shoulders as he studies her. 

Felix looks uncertain for a moment, before his usual resolve appears. “Don’t die,” he snaps before taking off.

Claude’s grip tightens. “How many times?” 

Byleth doesn’t have to ask him to clarify. She takes a deep breath, hand still at her nose, and tells him, “A few.” 

“What happens?”

Byleth’s eyes quickly scan the chaos around them, but no one is near enough to hear. “Thales summons the javelins of light. We’ll all die.”

“Here?” Claude asks, incredulous, obviously having not expected Those Who Slither in the Dark would destroy their base to destroy _them._

She nods, mind clearing, working through her options. Perhaps her mistake had been doing it alone. “Dimitri. Get Dimitri. We three focus on Thales. Stop him from going up the steps behind him.”

Claude gives her a jerky nod in return as he lowers his hands, watching her carefully to make sure she’s steady. “Let me get someone to heal–“

“There’s no time,” she interrupts, moving past him. 

He’s quick on her heels, and he doesn’t argue, trusting her word. 

.

Claude doesn’t know how many times Byleth has fought Thales, but it’s clear it’s enough times to become familiar with the way he fights. She’s quick and powerful, and while there’s no sign of her momentary weakness a few moments ago, he can’t help but worry.

Thales’s magic is brutal. Dark magic that twists into you, and feels like it’s burning you from the inside out. 

He’s managed to keep Thales at bay using Failnought, firing arrows and preventing the dark mage from backing away from Byleth and Dimitri. But Thales isn’t the only one he has to contend with, and Claude is distracted from his task when he’s hit with a bolt of magic from one of the other mages. He manages to twist out of the way to avoid the worst of it, but it still hits hard, knocking him to his knees. 

It’s with some relief that he sees the mage being taken down by Hilda, cutting him down expertly with her axe. She spares him a brief glance to check he’s okay before she turns away to face another enemy. 

Claude is already raising Failnought in Thales’s direction as he stands, frowning at the purple haze from all the dark magic being cast. It’s obscuring his view. 

Thales and Byleth are further up the steps now, the glow of her sword visible even though the haze of magic. He pushes himself closer to them, seeing that Dimitri has also been waylaid by other mages. Seeing that he’s well supported, Claude continues on, taking a quick shot at Thales that he counters with hardly a glance in Claude’s direction, knocking the arrow away from him with a blast of dark magic that Claude narrowly avoids. 

It’s then that everything seems to slow down. Byleth briefly glances at him before charging forward towards Thales. In that brief glance, he can see more blood streaming from her nose. Her face is grey, and he _knows_ she’s used the divine pulse again, that she’s pushing herself too far.

And this charge – it’s reckless, he thinks as he raises his bow again and she’s not –

– she’s not quick enough. 

Claude doesn’t know if it’s from using her divine pulse so much, or if she’s injured, or if the war has finally caught up to her, but he can tell – her strike isn’t going to hit Thales before he casts his next spell. She’s too close to dodge it.

The arrow that Claude has lined up isn’t going to be quick enough. Nothing is. And it’s clear Byleth isn’t going to turn back time again, not if she’s doing this. She’s not going to be able to.

The Sword of the Creator finds Thales’ throat a second after he’s cast his deadly spell, purple tendrils lashing out at Byleth and knocking her backwards. 

Claude doesn’t stop to look at Thale’s body as it hits the steps, head almost cleanly removed by Byleth’s blow. Instead he’s rushing forward to Byleth, Failnought falling from his hands to grab her instead, preventing her from injuring herself further. 

“Marianne!” His voice is shaky as he calls for her, glancing around and only dimly noticing that the fighting is winding down, at least here. He’s too distracted by the ashen pallor of Byleth’s face, the blood still spilling down her face, and the spasms of her body from Thales’ attack. 

It’s not Marianne that appears, but Mercedes, crouching beside him, hands already raised and beginning to cast. Claude doesn’t care who does it, he just needs someone to help Byleth. 

“Dark magic?” she asks, as serious as Claude’s ever seen her, and he can only nod helplessly in reply, frustrated at himself for his inability to stop this from happening and for not being able to help her now. 

The soothing warmth of Mercedes’s magic stops Byleth’s bleeding and tremors, but her face remains twisted in pain. 

“Hold her head up,” Mercedes commands softly, retrieving a vulnerary from her belt. With Claude’s help she tips it into Byleth’s mouth before casting more faith magic on her. After that, she looks up at Claude, tired. “Take her back to camp, to the infirmary. Let them know she was hit with dark magic – she’ll need to be monitored.” 

Claude swallows heavily, not liking the sombre tilt of Mercedes’ voice, but he stands, cradling Byleth gently against him. 

Standing with him, Mercedes brushes some of Byleth’s hair away from her face before briefly resting her finger at her neck, checking her pulse. 

“She’s–“ Claude tries to speak, but chokes on the words.

But Mercedes understands. “The Professor is strong, you know that. Now go, Claude.” 

Wasting no more time, Claude begins making his way back out of the building they’ve been fighting Thales in, out to where his wyvern waits. While this building has been emptied of Those Who Slither in the Dark, he can still hear the sounds of battle coming from further away, and he feels a pang of guilt at leaving the fight. But as he looks down at Byleth’s face, still set in a grimace, grey and streaked with blood, he knows he’s making the right choice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been fussing with this chapter for ages. Figured it was time to just post it, especially as it's Claude's birthday. 🎂 Sorry for the suffering in this chapter, Claude.
> 
> For Claudeleth week I posted the one-shot that eventually turned into Of Choices and Consequences! [It's rather smutty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25379875).
> 
> I am also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/rydiaofmyst).


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